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J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY, Publishers, 


PHILADELPHIA. 





THE COLONEL'S 


CHRISTMAS DINNER 

AND 

OTHER STORIES 


EDITED BY 

CAPT. CHARLES KING 



PHILADELPHIA 




J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY 


1892 



~fz I 

Xs'^ Qj ° 


THE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 

Copyright, 1890, by L. R. Hamersly & Co. 


BY LAND AND SEA. 

Copyright, 1891, by L. R. Hamersly & Co. 


Copyright, 1892, by J. B. Lippincott Company. 





xitr c // h 


CONTENTS. 


THE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


By Capt. Chas. King , U.S.A. . 5 


The Adjutant’s Story. 

The Senior Lieutenant’s Story 

The Captain’s Story, “ Chill 

and Fever” . 

A Major’s Story, “ Tom Car¬ 
rington’s Christmas Gift” . 
The Quartermaster’s Story . . 

The Major’s Story. 

A Guest’s Story, “ Dacre’s 

Christmas Gift”. 

The Colonel’s Daughter’s 

Story . 

The Senior Captain’s Story . . 


“ Capt. Chas. King , U.S.A. . 19 

“ Lieut. Thomas H. Wilson , 

U.S.A .33 

“ Capt. H. Romeyn , U.S.A. . 43 

u Capt. W. C. Bartlett , U.S.A. 53 
“ Mr. Edward L. Keyes . . 70 

“ Maj. W. H. Powell , L.S.A. 81 

“ Alice King Livingston . . 102 

“ Miss Caroline F. Little . . 128 

“ Capt. Edw. Field , U.S.A. . 141 

“ Col. //. W. Closson, U.S.A. 156 

iii 


The Colonel’s Story 











IV 


CONTENTS. 


BY LAND AND SEA 


Introduction. 

The Warlock Fight. 

Tamba (A Story of the Sea) . 

The Story of Wobberts . . . 
The Ruse of the Yankee Cap¬ 
tain . 

“ A Love-Chase”. 

The Lady of Malta. 

A Maid of the Hills. 

Did it Pay?. 

How Rufus came to go to Sea . 
The Old “ Academic” (A Story 
of West Point). 


By Capt. Chas. King, U.S.A. . 
“ Lieut. J. P. fVisser, U.S.A. 
“ Captain H. D. Smith, 

U.S.R.M. . 

“ Capt. Chas. King, U.S.A. . 

“ A Rear-Admiral in the 

Navy . 

“ Capt. Edw. Field, U.S.A. . 
“ Ensign F. R. Brainard, 

U.S.N. . 

“ E. L. Keyes, late U.S.A. . 
“ Capt. H. Romeyn, U.S.A. . 
“ Lieut. F. S. Bassett, U.S.N. 

“ Miss Carolyn E. Huse . . 


PAGE 

5 

9 

40 

56 

84 

92 

IJ S 

123 

i43 

159 

*75 











THE 


COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 





THE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


INTRODUCTION. 

At sunset on the 24th of December the commanding 
officer of Fort Blank was mentally as blue as the trousers 
of his pet orderly and facially black as the self-same 
orderly’s boots—minus the shine. The north mail was 
just in, borne by a half-breed Sioux on a more than half- 
starved pony, and thereby came the news that three 
officials high in repute and moderately so in rank in their 
respective corps would arrive late on the following day 
and spend the night at the post. They had been far to 
the northward, “ investigating ” at the Agencies along 
the Wakpa Washtay, and had not even found a reason 
for the misnomer. Everybody who was ever there be¬ 
lieves that the water of that fabled stream was good only 
when skillfully diluted. They had started for the distant 
railway, hoping to reach their domestic friends by Christ¬ 
mas Day. But bad luck befell them. A gale and blind¬ 
ing snow-storm swept over the northwest from Boulder 
to the Black Hills. Their driver lost the way—first— 
and the mules next. The party camped in a canon 
until the clouds rolled by ”—were found and towed into 
an outlying cantonment by a scouting band of troopers, 
and now, here they were “coming to roost in my 
rookery,’’ said the Colonel, “when I haven’t even a crow 
to pick with them.’’ 


5 



6 


THE COEONEE’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


But this was not the sum total of his troubles. There 
was worse news—or lack of news, which meant bad news 
in this case—from the south. He had planned a quiet 
little dinner—just half-a-dozen of his cronies and favorites, 
and indeed there was but scanty room for more—the in¬ 
vitations had been issued and accepted ; his worthy help¬ 
mate and their eldest daughter were already deep in pre¬ 
paration : when lo !—the fact he had to face on Christmas 
Eve was that Christmas Day was apt to bring him double- 
loaded tribulation. The same storm that brought him 
extra guests had blocked the coming of the extra dinner. 

Fort Blank’s market-town lay just about a hundred 
miles away, when the skies and roads were clear, and just 
about a thousand when they weren’t. The oysters, the 
turkeys, the celery, the cranberries, the fruits ordered sent 
by the stage due at Blank at 4 p.m. on the -24th, were 
stuck in the snow-drifts an indefinite distance south. 
Even the telegraph couldn’t find them. 

When a man’s in trouble, in nine cases out of ten, the 
quicker he tells his wife, the sooner it’s over. The Colo¬ 
nel went home overcome with the weight of his woe. For 
a moment his better half was, apparently, as prostrated as 
himself—no woman likes to have a dinner-party ruined, 
either by having too little to eat or too many to eat it— 
but no sooner did she note his profound dejection, than 
she arose to the occasion. 

“ Never mind, Colonel, the missing dinner will turn up 
in time, and if it doesn’t, we’ll make them so welcome, 
after their hard trip, that anything will taste good. And 
then, you know, there’s the champagne we were saving 
for Dot’s wedding. It will cover a multitude of sins- 
like charity. Don’t you worry. I’ll manage it.” 

And she did. 

That woman was a marvel of energy, pluck, and 


INTRODUCTION. 


7 


resources. She trotted over through the gloaming to her 
especial crony, the Major’s kindly wife, catching the 
children peeping over the balusters ready to scream with 
ecstasy at the sight of a possible Santa Claus. 

She had brief consultation with her. She hurried down 
the line to the bachelor dens and pounced on Mr. Briggs, 
who, though devoted to “ Dot,” was as yet understood to 
be on terms of probation. There wasn’t anything Briggs 
wouldn’t do for her—now, at least—and Briggs, before 
tattoo, was riding away through the glistening moonlight 
over the rolling expanse of snow ‘ ‘ scouting for that din¬ 
ner ’ ’ with an all-night jaunt before him. She had roused 
the sympathies of the garrison. Strangers are coming— 
all unexpected—but must be welcomed. 

It is a characteristic of frontier life that the very men 
and women who entertain and express at .times most un¬ 
flattering opinions of their neighbors, from the “ C. O. ” 
down to the ‘ ‘ Sub, ’ ’ will turn to, when the honor of the 
garrison is at stake, and help them out to the extent of 
their spoons, salad forks, their most treasured china— 
their last cent, and Fort Blank rallied to a woman to the 
support of the Colonel and his energetic wife. 

All through the crisp, sparkling sheen of the moonlit 
evening, dark, muffled forms were flitting from house to 
house along the lines of officers’ quarters. Little pack¬ 
ages of gifts—home-made, perhaps, but loving—were left 
for the children everywhere, and then there was perpetual 
stamping of overshoes on the Colonel’s porch and laugh¬ 
ing greetings of party after party that came trooping in— 
everybody bringing material aid and comfort. 

And so before midnight the modest little dinner origi¬ 
nally proposed developed into a phenomenal “spread.” 
Even by tight squeezing, which the jolly subalterns ad¬ 
vocated, not more than ten people could be seated in the 


8 


THE COEONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


frontier dining-room, but “ hang tlie dining-room !” said 
the Major. “Set a long table down this side of the house 
—one end in the dining-room—t’other in the parlor. 
Knock out the folding doors, of course—levy on all the 
flags, curtains—Navajo blankets, lap robes, crazy quilts 
and Indian shawls and their imitations in garrison. Call 
in the combined resources of the bachelors’ mess and pri¬ 
vate establishments—and I’ll bet you will make such a 
dazzling table of it that even if we haven’t turkey and 
quail enough to go round they won’t notice it. Then 
just fall to and decide how many of us you want to ap¬ 
pear, and we’ll turn out in our best bib and tucker and 
the old house will fairly sparkle. ’ ’ 

The Colonel’s wife sprang up and seized the speaker’s 
hands. “Just what I hoped for, only—we’ll have to 
borrow so much.” 

“ Borrow anything we’ve got, and I’ll throw in more 
than a gallon of that old Amontillado of mine to boot. ’ ’ 

“ Major ! That precious sherry ? You are simply too 
generous! ’ ’ 

“ Not a bit! I’ll be here to help drink it and I’d love 
to see their faces as they sip it. ’ ’ 

The Major’s wife would have embraced him then and 
there, but time was precious. His enthusiasm was con¬ 
tagious, and this was the result. The bachelors’ mess 
contributed ne 7 n. con . two dozen plump quail from their 
larder and enough celery to make “salad for sixty.” 
Captain and Mrs. Winston begged that they might be 
represented by half-a-dozen bottles of some prized Chateau 
Yquem they had stored away for special occasions. The 
Waynes trotted out some dusty flagons of Pape Clement 
which the Captain had laid away when serving in New 
Orleans. McManus, the jovial post trader, appeared with 
a brace of bottles of his ‘ ‘ warranted twenty years old S. 


INTRODUCTION. 


9 


O. P., Currnel—and ivery limon, fig, nut, raisin or 
dhrop there is in the house.” Fluids were after all the 
hardest things to provide for: that is to say, fluids of 
suitable quality, and yet this was galore. 

“ By Jove ! ” said the Colonel, “This isn’t my dinner. 
It’s the whole post that’s doing it.” But no! said the 
post. “It’s the Colonel’s Christmas dinner, and we are 
only too glad to help.” 

And lo ! What transformation scene was wrought by 
Christmas afternoon. Briggs had found the stage thirty 
miles out and had replaced its battered team by the well- 
fed mules he had taken along. By noon its precious 
cargo was landed at the Colonel’s kitchen, where half-a- 
dozen ladies were at work. Mrs. Waring had assumed 
charge of the cake and pastry department. Captain 
Wayne’s accomplished wife was up to her lovely elbows 
in flour. The Adjutant’s better half was out in the 
snow superintending the manufacture of orange ice and 
chocolate cream (a whole box of McManus’s Floridas 
was squeezed into those freezers and ‘ ‘ divil a cint would 
he iver take ”). The Q. M. Department had knocked up 
a temporary kitchen in the back-yard, where a big range 
was already firing up, and haunches of “black tail” and 
a saddle of venison were hanging in the frosty air ready 
for their turn. Over at Mrs. Morton’s the soup had been 
simmering ever since tattoo the night before—two troopers 
from the ‘ ‘ Grays ’ ’ on watch over it lest the fire get too 
hot or too low. 

Nobody could beat the Quartermaster’s wife in the 
preparation of coffee—that was to be her province when 
the time came. And as for delicious jelly, there was 
bonny Mrs. Prime, the Doctor’s wife, with him away till 
the stage got in, and then it was too late for him to pro¬ 
hibit the expenditure of certain hospital stores which he 

1 * 


10 


THE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


afterwards very gladly replaced from personal funds. And 
so all was bustle without, and willing hands had been as 
busy within the improvised banquet hall. Extra tables, 
chairs, china, glasses of all shapes, styles and colors, 
decanters, carafes, sconces, candelabra, damask, cutlery, 
silver, etc., had been poured in as fast as needed. No¬ 
body had to be asked for anything, everybody sent hi— 
no ! her best. At 3 p. m. , under a canopy consisting of 
the great garrison flag, draped from the front of the 
parlor to the rear of the dining-room, with all manner of 
smaller flags, guidons, signal outfits, and improvised 
drapery too intricate for description, the Colonel’s Christ¬ 
mas table was laid for twenty-four, and was a sight that 
set his eyes glistening to match the array of crystal. No 
flowers, of course, for ’twas in the heart of the Rockies 
and the dead of winter. No wax tapers, for there wasn’t 
time to provide them, but in their stead, from scores of 
brilliant (tin) sconces, from candlesticks, candelabra, 
clusters by the dozen, there popped out the prim white 
‘ * best adamantine ’ ’ of the Commissary Department. 
“Bless your heart! Mrs. Grace,” said the A. A. C. S. : 
“ They’ll make just as soft a light as wax, if there isn’t a 
draft, and just as brilliant if you burn enough at a time.” 

At four thirty the lookouts reported the ambulance 
toiling over the divide five miles away. “ Here they 
come !” was the cry. “ Now everybody who is to be at 
the dinner scatter and dress. I close the banquet hall 
against all comers until it’s time to light up,” ordered the 
Colonel’s wife, “ and mind—be here sharp at six. They’ll 
be ravenous by the time they reach the post. ’ ’ 

“Stop! stop! my dear—one minute!” shouted the 
Colonel from across the hall. “Just listen to this.” And 
with twinkling eyes the veteran read aloud a little note 
he held in a hand that trembled despite himself. 


INTRODUCTION. 


11 


“ Dear Coeonee Grace : 

“All day I have been lamenting that there was nothing I could 
do to show my interest in the dinner you are giving to our unex¬ 
pected guests. The stage came in the nick of time. It brought 
me from New York my special favorites of the club days a few 
years ago. With my best wishes for the Merriest of Christmases 
to all I send this box of Regalia Perfectos. 

Yours most-” 

But he couldn’t finish. 

“Pills junior—God bless him !’’ shouted the Major, 
“and I’ve been doing nothing but guy him since he 
joined-’’ 

“Colonel !" screamed Mrs. Grace. “And we hadn’t 
room for him.’’ 

“Make it, by Jove! Raise the roof! Why, there 
wasn’t a cigar worth smoking on the post—and, damn 
these medical chaps anyway, they—they- ” 

* * They do the nicest things in the nicest way, ’ ’ prompted 
Mrs. Grace. “ Doctor Watts comes if I have to stand.’’ 

“ Nonsense ! Two more seats can go in there just as 
well as not, ’ ’ declared Miss Dot. ‘ ‘ I would like v to 
squeeze the doctor if you will put him next me. ’ ’ 

“ Dora ! you are excited,’’ remarked mamma. “We’ll 
have the doctor here—next Mrs. Willis. You are to de¬ 
vote yourself to Major Loomis. But that’ll make twenty- 
three. We must match him. Now, which—who ? ’’ 

“I’ll run right over and tell her—Kitty, of course,’’ 
and Miss Dora makes a dash. In vain Mrs. Grace would 
have interposed. The Colonel settles it. 

Kitty Wallace, by all means, or he wouldn’t care to 
come. Now, I’ve just time to go over and hug Pills my¬ 
self.’’ 

vl* «!/ vl/ SU vL* vE* *J/ vp 

'T' 

Fancy the astonishment of those three hungry and 
weary travelers, Colonels C- and D-and Major 





12 


THE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


Iy-, when, as they were assisted, stiff and half-frozen, 

from the ambulance and marshaled aloft to warm and 
cosy rooms, they were told that dinner would be ready as 
soon as they were, and a few friends to meet them. ‘ ‘ Wear 
what you like,” .said the Colonel. “We know you have 
only traveling garb. ’ ’ 

But as they thawed out under the influence of the genial 
glow, the abundant hot water, the sounds and, it must be 
added, the scents from below, for a big dinner announces 
itself all over the army quarters of those days before ever 
the grace is said, the three gentlemen realized something, 
at least, of what was in store for them. 

“Fatigue uniform is the best we can do,” said Major 
Iyoomis. ‘ ‘ I can see shoulder knots and aiguillettes gath¬ 
ering below.” 

“Fatigue it is,” was the prompt response, and then 
there came a sudden flock of dancing lights along the road¬ 
way in front, the tramp of martial footsteps. ‘ ‘ The band, 
by Jove ! ” said the Major, and the band it was, for an 
instant after there burst upon the frosty air the ringing, 
joyous notes of a welcoming quickstep, only one tune, for 
the valves of the clarionettes would freeze stiff in less than 
no time. But to that spirited music, marshaled by their 
host, they descended upon a hall full of ‘ ‘ fair women and 
brave men ’ ’ in all the gala of social dress. 

“Dinner is served,” announced the one colored facto¬ 
tum at the post, throwing open the door at the head of 
the hall. Mrs. Grace stole her gloved hand within the 
arm of Colonel C-, and before that distinguished sol¬ 

dier had had time to bow to three people he was being 
led down a banqueting board, the like of which he had 
never seen or dreamed of seeing on the frontier in all his 
years of gallant service. Speedily the guests were mar¬ 
shaled to their places—every one seemed to know just 


INTRODUCTION. 


13 


where to go. There was an instant of reverent silence as 
the voice of the old chaplain quavered its thanks and its 
plea for blessing on one and all. Then a rustle and sub¬ 
dued clatter, hushed voices for a while as the party ex¬ 
changed nods and smiles and stole covert glances at the 
three storm-worn travelers as though seeking to read in 
their bearded faces what they thought of the unusual dis¬ 
play. Colonel C-’s twinkling eyes were taking in the 

pretty scene with frank and genial delight. Anybody 
could tell from her smiles and heightened color that he 
was saying to Mrs. Grace just the loveliest possible things 
of the beautiful effect of the table—and well he might. 
Under the bright-hued drapery the glare of the candles 
was skillfully toned by countless tiny screens of pink tis¬ 
sue paper on wire frames. (Didn’t three of those blessed 
women spend hours in cutting, pasting and trimming 
them ?) The “ adamantines ” on the table were all simi¬ 
larly dressed with little pink bells, so that nowhere was 
there flame in sight. Yet the light was amply strong to 
bring out all the beauties of the board—the lovely cos¬ 
tumes of the women, their own charming faces, the rich 
variety in the appointments of the table, in crystal, in 
china, in cut-glass. “Who on earth,” said old Colonel 

D-, before he had been seated a moment, ‘ ‘ would have 

dared dream of such a sight as this ? Blue Points on the 
half-shell in the heart of the Rockies ! ” 

They were not Blue Points—neither were they shells. 
They were bound to utilize those oysters (canned “se¬ 
lects”) somehow, and this was an inspiration of the Ad¬ 
jutant. At each place as the banqueters took their seats 
stood a little block of clearest ice, six inches square and 
two deep, hollowed out on the upper surface, and therein 
reposed five of the smallest oysters that could be selected 
from the “selects.” It was fun to see that energetic of- 


14 


THE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


ficial spending hours that afternoon with the piccolo 
player and the bass drummer, sawing out those ‘ ‘ shells ’ ’ 
from the huge blocks duly dumped in the back-yard and 
then laboriously hollowing out the top of each by the in¬ 
genious application of hot shot—a couple of stray twelve- 
pounder howitzer shells that, long since emptied and un¬ 
fused, had been kicking about the post since the memory 
of the oldest log in the block-house at the angle. 

And while these metamorphosed ‘ ‘ selects ’ ’ were being 
tipped with lemon juice and horse radish and slipped 
down past welcoming palates, white-gloved, solemn-faced 
“ strikers ”—the Major’s eagle eye upon them—were fill¬ 
ing the tiny sherry glasses (and half-filling those of 
larger calibre) with his treasured Amontillado. A well- 
drilled corps they proved—these extemporized Jeameses— 
for while everything was being brought in from the door 
at Mrs. Grace’s end of the double room—everything went 
out at the other. 

“ By Jove—what sherry !” exclaimed old D-. He 

was too far away from the Colonel to be heard by 
him, but Mrs. Grace smiled her pleasure at his satisfac¬ 
tion and her eyes signaled “fill up again.” Out went 
the ice blocks. In came two huge tureens of fragrant 
mock turtle and these were deposited on little stands on 
each side of the table, where the plates were quickly 
filled and set before the guests. “ Capital idea that! Mrs. 

Grace,” said D-again. “ By Jove, madam, you must 

permit me to compliment you on such management. It 
would be sure to cool if carried in plates from the kitchen, 
and if there’s anything hateful it’s cold soup. Especially 
when one has been exposed to storm and tempest and 
zero weather for a week in the mountains as we have. 
More sherry ? Indeed, yes. I’ll lose no time in drinking 
your health.” 



INTRODUCTION. 


15 


And Mrs. Grace smilingly raised her glass and 
bowed her acknowledgments and just glanced at the 

humorous twinkle in the blue eyes of Colonel C-, who 

sat at the right hand, and who promptly sipped a ripple 
from the surface of his sherry as token of his sympathy 
in the toast. 

And now the chat grew merry and general. Down the 
table far to the right, handsome young Doctor Watts was 
beaming into the blushing face of Kitty Wallace. Mid¬ 
way on the other side, sprightly “ Dot ” was “ doing her 
level best” to fascinate dark-visaged Major Loomis, as 
bidden—while Briggs, whose heroic efforts had been re¬ 
warded by a seat at her other side, was scowling at the 
situation and reaching for more sherry. It was McManus’s 
‘ ‘ best ’ ’ that lay at his elbow, for the Colonel meant to use 
his Major’s Amontillado on Sam Ward’s principle —a 
thimble-full, and all who struck for more (except among 
the guests from abroad) should take the local product. A 
lovely woman, a visitor at the fort, was making play with 

her beautiful £>lue eyes at bluff Colonel D-, who took 

her in ; but he was too full of his recent hardships to care 
for comforts less material than those to be found in his 
immediate front. Midway down the table the staunch 
ally of Mrs. Grace—the Major’s wife—finding Briggs 
moody, decided on striving to console him, but at this 
moment the blue-eyed dame, finding old D- intract¬ 

able and being unaccustomed to anything less than rapt 
attention, took advantage of an instant’s turn of Major 
Loomis’s head, and he was caught. “Dot,” rejoicing in 
her release from duty, turned to whisper to Briggs. 
Smiles, social sunshine, joyousness reigned along the 
board, and the Major’s wife, happy in such consummation 
of their hopes, sent a significant look along over the wine 
glasses and through the pink tissue candle-bells to her 


16 


THE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


loyal friend and social chief at the head of the table, and 
Mrs. Grace caught it behind her fan and smiled back as 
the great haunch of venison came in. 

At her right, beyond the senior officer of all—the low¬ 
voiced gentleman in the quiet fatigue dress—sat pretty 
Mrs. Wayne exchanging congratulations with the 
aiguilletted Adjutant who was just beyond. Then there 
was Mrs. Winston, wife of the soldierly, scholar^ senior 
Captain, who sat far down at the Colonel’s end chatting 
with Mrs. Quartermaster Drake over the trials and tri¬ 
umphs of the day. Then there was the Captain whose 
life was said to have been a romance, and the woman who 
had not had too much of anything but reality, and who 
could serenely and sweetly enjoy so bright a scene as this, 
even though her thoughts were much with the little ones 
at her modest fireside who had begged for some of the 
goodies when she came home (I wish you could have 
seen the load that the Colonel helped her to carry to those 
sleeping cherubs, when we broke up—never mind at what 
hour). And the Colonel had taken in the bride—the wife 
of the Post Surgeon who wouldn’t have been able to get 
here at all, but for Briggs and his mules. And the gray¬ 
haired chaplain and his wife were there and the quarter¬ 
master, of course, and you may be sure old McManus, 
the jovial trader, was bidden, but he wouldn’t come. 
“Tord! Currnel, I’d be like a fish out o’ wather, and 
then, d’ye mind, it’s the boys are all coming to the shtore 
to-night for the bit of spread I’m givin’ them.” And so 
what did the Graces and their counsellors do, but send 
and insist his pretty daughter should come, the apple of 
the old man’s “ oi,” and nothing could have rejoiced him 
more. 

By the time the turkeys were gone—wild and domes¬ 
tic—people were well filled, and still there came another 


INTRODUCTION. 


17 


course, the quails of the bachelor mess, with such marvel¬ 
ous celery salad! And old D-had waxed eloquent 

over the sauterne and exploded with amaze at sight of 
Pape Clement in Wyoming, and wouldn’t be admonished 
by the disapproving glance bent upon him by his senior 
across the table, and burst out with “ But, madam, this is 
magic. This beats Aladdin ; beats—beats anything I 
ever heard of —beats the Jews ! You couldn’t have known 
we were coming more'n a day and you couldn’t have done 
better if you’d known it a year. Now I never heard of 
Pape Clement outside of New Orleans before. Why ! I 
couldn’t have been more surprised if you had given us 
Pompano-’ * 

Pop ! went a champagne cork, just under his rubicund 
nose. He buried his grizzled moustache in the hissing 
fluid—Dot’s wedding wine—and glanced about him a 
picture of bliss, defiant of adverse comment or criticism. 

And now, fun, laughter, witty sallies, jovial anecdotes 
were criss-crossing over the board. The huge plum pud¬ 
ding, all wealth and blue blazes, was borne aloft by the 
sable functionary down the long length ol the room, and 
there, by aid of comrade hands, placed in front of the 

Colonel, whose face was as roseate and blissful as D-’s, 

and round as the pudding’s. Pop ! pop ! the champagne 
corks went flying. Dot’s wedding wine was to be taxed, 
only enough to season the birds. Then again ’twas Mc¬ 
Manus ad libitum. And everybody praised the pudding, 
though few could eat it, and the health of the fair manu¬ 
facturer was drunk, and the Adjutant’s wife came in for a 
general toast on her ices and cream, and McManus’s fruits 
were heaped before unheeding eyes, and at last came Mrs. 
Drake’s masterpiece—coffee so black and rich that it left a 
stain on the dainty china in which it was served, and 
then the Colonel arose, and people at his end of the table 


18 THE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 

stopped talking, and little by little the silence spread. 

‘ ‘ Fill your glasses, ’ ’ he said. ‘ ‘ Soldiers, soldiers’ wives— 
and—soldiers’ wives that ought to be.” 

“ Bravo !” from D-. 

“Oh! I forget you, Dot,” said the Colonel, amidst 
shouts of laughter and applause, but glasses were filled, 
and then as the old fellow raised his on high a sudden 
hush fell upon them all. 

“ We don’t often have such a chance as this, my friends. 
I’ve no words to say what joy it gives my heart to wel¬ 
come you all here at this God-given and blessed season of 
cheer and gladness. I’ve no words appropriate to the 
Christmas-tide, dearly though I love it, but I bid you 
join with me in drinking—one and all—the toast that at 
all times, at all seasons, wherever under God’s provi¬ 
dence we may be called to serve, must ever be first and 
foremost in the American heart: The President—and the 
Flag!” 

Bang ! went a gong somewhere out in the hallway, and 
as all sprang to their feet there broke upon the still night 
air without, in full swing, the crash of the band, joined 
almost instantly by a score of manly voices, ‘ ‘ ould 
McManus ’ ’ leading the stirring strains of * ‘ The Star- 
Spangled Banner.” It was the climax of the evening. 
They had been rehearsing an hour “ down at the store.” 

“And now,” said the Colonel half an hour later, by 
which time the enthusiasm had subsided to some degree, 
“ Our Guests ” and “The Ladies” had been appropri¬ 
ately toasted and responded for (the former doubly so, as 

after Colonel C-had spoken his few modest, well-chosen 

words D-sprang to his feet and waxed exuberant). 

‘ ‘ And now, ’ ’ said Grace, ‘ ‘ we have talked over our little 
programme, the ladies and I. There’s nothing for them 
to do, if banished. They are all indulgent as to the mat- 


THE ADJUTANT’S STORY. 


19 


ter of good tobacco smoke. They have made this little 
dinner—every bit of it—the success our indulgent friends 
have pronounced it, and it would break my heart if they 
were to leave.” (“ Break all our hearts !” shouts from 
everywhere). “ I read not long ago of a Christmas at Sea, 
where the ward-room officers entertained the Admiral and 
their Captain and, over the walnuts and wine, told their 
stories each in turn. 

‘ ‘ In almost every respect they had manifest advantages 
over us fellows. But in one, which outrivals theirs com¬ 
bined, we have the best of ’em. They had no ladies and, 
thank God ! we have, and the best and dearest and 
truest in the whole Army, if I do say it. (Deafening ap¬ 
plause). 

“They have willed—and who dare disobey ?—that each 
man here, when summoned, shall so contribute his share 
to the enjoyment of our Christmas night. I have done my 
share of the talk” (“ No !—No ! ”), “and my duties are 
now at an end. It is the high privilege of the host to en¬ 
courage his guests by leading off with the first story, but 
it is the still more blessed right of the regimental com¬ 
mander to transfer his burden to the shoulders of his staff. 
In the exercise of that right, I call upon my Adjutant for 
the first story. Mr. X., take the floor.” 

Amidst long-continued applause the gallant old sol¬ 
dier took his seat, and then, one by one, regretfully, the 
guests turned to the other end of the table, where sat Mr. 
X. blushing over his aiguillettes. 


THE ADJUTANT’S STORY. 

“Well,” said the Adjutant, “if somebody must start 
the ball, I will try, though yarn-spinning isn’t my forte, 


20 


THE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


and I shall break down utterly if I see signs of satirical 
comment anywhere.” 

‘ ‘ Oh, shut your eyes and tell it as ‘ Pills ’ does when 
he sings for us,” suggested the Senior Lieutenant, always 
ready to have a fling at the Adjutant. 

“Yes, and when I open them again find the room 
deserted, as he did the night you got him to sing at Mrs. 
Freeman’s.” At this there was a general shout of laugh¬ 
ter, for the incident was still fresh in the memory of the 
garrison. 

“ No,” continued the Adjutant, “I’ll try and tell the 
Story. It all happened the winter my old troop was stationed 
at Fort Emory, and if you don’t believe in ghosts you can 
ridicule it as much as you like. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ A ghost story ! ’ ’ exclaimed the lady with the blue 
eyes. “ Oh, that’s delightful ! But we ought to have the 
room darkened. ’ ’ There was no response to this sugges¬ 
tion, however, and the Adjutant went on. 

“ It was a mighty hard winter. It had been blowing 
and snowing much of December, and by the time the hol¬ 
idays came on, the whole country seemed buried under the 
drifts. We were penned up in the post, for, unless there 
was imminent need, nobody wanted to send out teams in 
such weather. The mail was carried over to the railway 
twice a week by Indians who made the trip in two or 
three days by using up several ponies. Otherwise we had 
had no communication with the settlements since the 
twelfth of the month. Now that winter Jim Forbes and I 
were living together. He was serving with ‘ F ’ troop, 
and I with ‘ K.’ We had the set of quarters at the 
lower end of the row, nearest the stables and farthest 
from the commanding officer’s. Colonel Hawes, of the 
—th Foot, was in command. His family was with him— 
his wife, three children and a distant connection of his 


THE ADJUTANT’S STORY. 


21 


wife’s, Miss Frazier, a fragile, delicate girl of about 
twenty, who had no home of her own, it seems, and who, 
by being governess, and heaven knows what all besides 
to those three youngsters, managed to eke out a living 
and have a home under the Colonel’s roof 

‘ ‘ She was a shy, retiring sort of a girl, with big brown 
eyes ; something awfully pathetic about them, I thought at 
times; but I never saw anything of her when we called at 
the Colonel’s, and on pleasant days when she was out walk¬ 
ing with the children she avoided notice in everyway, and 
seemed positively scared if any of us bowed or spoke to 
her. She came out with Mrs. Hawes and the children 
late in the fall, and the winter set in soon and put a stop 
to her out-door pleasures, if she had any, and then 
Forbes took to calling frequently at the Colonel’s by night, 
and to taking notice to those graceless kids by day. As 
he had hardly been on cordial terms with the family 
before, it was evident there was some new attraction. 

“ I was very fond of Jim. He was a big, burly fellow, 
rough as a miner and soft-hearted as a woman-’ ’ 

“Asa major, I thought you were going to say,” put in 
Mr. Briggs. 

“Do be quiet, Mr. Briggs,” pouted the Major’s wife. 
The Colonel frowned, and glancing around the table, Briggs 
found that people were getting interested and that per¬ 
haps he had better subside. The Adjutant took advantage 
of the diversion to imbibe a little Dutch courage from his 
champagne glass, and then went on : 

“ I say I was fond of Forbes. He was not a brilliant 
fellow, like Briggs here, but he was stanch and true; a 
good son and brother, as I had reason to know while his 
mother was alive; but he was practically alone in the 
world now, and rather solemn at times. He had one 
pronounced fad. Without being a spiritualist, he somehow 


22 


THE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


believed in spirits. He used to sit in a big, easy rocking- 
chair on his side of our centre-table nights when we were 
alone and tell me about his mother and how often he saw 
her and talked with her now. I told him it was all 
dreaming ; but he believed in it, and used to wax really 
eloquent, talking about his theories by the hour. We had 
an open fireplace, and burned hickory logs then, and 
though it was only a bachelor ranch, we were pretty snug 
and comfortable. Night after night, as the winter came 
on and the wind howled about the old shell of a shanty, 
we sat there in front of the roaring blaze, he with his pipe, 
and always rocking to and fro, to and fro as he talked, 
and I got to know him better and like him better every 
day. 

“ ‘ Why,’ said he one night, ‘ you laugh at my thinking 
I can hear mother moving around my bed, or sometimes 
bending over to kiss me as she used to when I was a boy. 
Now we’ve been pretty close friends here for a couple of 
years, old man ; don’t you suppose that if I were to die 
I’d want to come back and see how you were getting 
along without me ? Why, it would be just as natural for 
me to come drifting in some night and setting this old 
chair of mine to rocking, and communing with you just 
as I do now. I don’t suppose I’d be visible to you ; but 
it seems as though I could make my presence known. 
I’ll tell you what: If I’m killed or suddenly taken 
away any time while you are here, and my theory is all 
right, that our souls can rustle around on earth awhile, 
I’ll let you know I’m gone in that way. I’ll just float in 
here and start my old rocker going.’ 

‘ * Of course I simply laughed at him ; but there came 
a night when I didn’t. 

“ I didn’t care to go often to the Colonel’s; he was 
very prosy, and would talk for hours on regulations and 


THE ADJUTANT’S STORY. 


23 


papers, but Forbes got to going up there two and three 
and then four nights a week. Mrs. Hawes was quick 
enough to divine the attraction, and as she hoped with 
another year to live in a city and educate her brood at 
some fashionable school, she doubtless thought it a good 
plan to marry off Miss Frazier, and Forbes would make a 
capital husband. He was just the man a woman could 
rule with a look. And so Miss Frazier was brought down 
from the upper regions and made to sing and play for 
him, which she did not at all want to do as it turned out: 
and, as she was being obviously thrown at his head, the 
result was inevitable : she began to hate the sight of him; 
and big honest Jim used to come home looking bluer and 
bluer, and sighing like a dozen fumaces 2 and yet saying 
no word. I got nervous about it, and was for getting 
somebody to go and steer Mrs. Hawes onto the other 
tack, when old Boreas himself took a hand and helped us 
in a most unexpected way. 

“Jim had been in the depths of despond for a whole week. 
It had been snowing night and day, when on the evening 
of the 19th, I think it was, he came back from the 
Colonel’s earlier than ever. 

‘ ‘ * Where can I get a sleigh ? ’ he asked. 

“ ‘ I don’t know, Jim, unless the trader has one. Why ? ’ 
And then he told me. Miss Frazier had a brother, an only 
brother, it seems, who was far from strong, and who had 
grievously offended his aunt, Mrs. Hawes, a year or two 
before. Miss Frazier’s heart was bound up in the young 
fellow, and she had received a letter saying that at last he 
had obtained a’good appointment in southern California 
where the physicians had urged his going ; that he must 
be in San Francisco on the first of January ; but that he 
was coming around by the way of the old K. P., and 
they would spend Christmas eve together. He could not 


24 


THE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


go on to the fort, for lie would not set foot under the 
Hawes’s roof. She must come in to Grover City, the 
nearest railway town where there was a good hotel. 
With the cheerful ignorance of all men who have never 
been West, he thought it a perfectly feasible thing to 
drive over the intervening forty miles at any time ; and 
now there was not a trail that wasn’t deep in snow. The 
Colonel and his wife had coldly told her the trip was 
simply impossible and bade her telegraph to him to hire a 
sleigh and strong team and come out to the fort. In such 
weather and for such a trip it would cost a fabulous sum, 
and her brother had not a surplus cent. She was sobbing 
aloft in her little room while Mrs. Hawes was dilating to 
Forbes upon the utter absurdity of the whole thing. ‘ It’s 
nothing but an absurd sentiment on her part. Of course 
if there were any way of bringing them together I would 
do it. But there isn’t. The Colonel says no horses or 
mules could possibly make the trip. She’s just crying 
herself sick over it. ’ 

“ Then what does Forbes do but scribble a note and send 
it to her by one of her pupils, saying in so many words 
that he would either get her to town or fetch her brother 
out to the fort, but at taps he was back in the house 
again with a face as long as my story. There wasn’t a 
thing on runners in the post. The nearest sleigh that he 
could hear of was at Rayburn’s ranch, ten miles over on 
the Saline At dawn he rode away, permission being 
rather grudgingly granted, we thought; took an Arrapalioe 
guide with him and two horses, and then we heard noth¬ 
ing more until late in the evening, when he drove in with 
a really good sleigh, but a played out team. He had 
gone over thirty miles through unbroken drifts to get it. 

“ Next morning, with two fresh horses, hired of old 
Grubb, our post trader, he loaded up the sleigh with 


THE ADJUTANT’S STORY. 


25 


robes and rations, and was away at daybreak bound for 
Grover City ; and though I didn’t feel like talking with 
Mrs. Hawes, I did want to see Miss Frazier, and tell her 
how blithely Jim had started. He expected to drive 
slowly all day long, with frequent rests and plenty of feed 
for the team, and to reach Murray’s ranch at night, 
twenty miles away. After that he would find at least 
partially broken roads and could get along faster. It was 
a glorious, sunshiny winter’s day. The snow sparkled 
and glistened. The sun was so warm that the eaves 
began to drip, and the women and children came flocking 
out on the porches, snow-balling from house to house. 
The Colonel had ordered out .a party to follow the tele¬ 
graph line and locate the breaks, and I was really sorry 
the detail had fallen to another fellow and not to me, as I 
walked up to the Colonel’s and asked for Miss Frazier. 
She looked even more fragile than ever when she came 
into‘the parlor from the school-room. Her big eyes were 
full of anxiety and longing, and heavy tear-drops began 
to gather the moment I told her of Jim’s buoyant start at 
dawn. She knew of his going—her window commanded 
a view of what had been the road for several miles—and 
yet, instead of being glad and hopeful, as I supposed, she 
was profoundly depressed. ‘ I cannot help it,’ she said, 
throwing herself into a chair. ‘ I have been haunted by 
most dreadful dreams; tormented by all manner of fore¬ 
bodings. Oh, I wish he had not gone ! ’ 

“Now this was not at all what I had expected or hoped 
for, but I tried to cheer her; told her Jim would find 
rapidly clearing roads, and would have her brother at our 
house before sundown on the 24th, possibly by noon. 

‘ And Mr. Frazier’s room is all ready for him,’ I added; 

‘ and we’ll have a jolly Christmas dinner there. Mrs. 
Stannard is coming to see you this morning. She will 

2 


26 


THE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


matronize the party, for it was arranged weeks ago that 
she and Captain Stannard were to be our Christmas 
guests. Then the next day we will see Mr. Frazier safely 
over to the railway and off for’Frisco.’ And still she 
was sad and unresponsive. I could not rouse her at all. 
I went and got Mrs. Stannard to run over and see her. 
And that night I went again. Mrs. Stannard said she 
feared Miss Frazier would be ill, she was in such distress 
of mind. ‘ She cannot sleep without being tortured by 
dreams in which she sees Mr. Forbes and her brother lost 
on the prairie and freezing to death in some terrible storm. 
She cannot close her eyes without the picture rising 
before her at the instant.’ Now this was the evening of 
the 21st. The- detachment came in and said they had 
followed the telegraph line for seven miles; that many 
poles were down and the wires were buried out of sight in 
a thousand places. They also said that Forbes with his 
sleigh had followed the line instead of the road. It was 
straighter, but went up hill and down dale in a way no 
wagon could follow, and it might be difficult for him. 

“ On the 22d about nightfall an Indian runner came in 
with our letter mail. He said Forbes had got to Murray’s 
all right, despite several upsets. So far, so good. There 
was a letter for Miss Frazier, and I was not surprised to 
get a message before tattoo. Mrs. Stannard wanted me to 
come to her a moment. 

“Just as I supposed. Miss Frazier was there with her 
brother’s letter, and the poor girl was well-nigh heart¬ 
broken. He had been seized with a hemorrhage at St. 
Touis, and forbidden to start at the time proposed. He 
could now reach Grover City only by noon of the 23d, 
and it might be the last time, he said, that he could ever 
hope to see her loved face. It was now arranged that for 
a little change and rest she should remain with Mrs. 


THE ADJUTANT’S STORY. 


27 


Stannard a day or two. The dreams that so terrified her 
might not pursue her there. 

“ But they did. When I went over to inquire the next 
day, the poor girl was nearly wild. ‘ Is there no way, no 
way to stop them ? ’ she cried. ‘ They must not attempt 
to come. It is death to both. ’ But we reasoned with 
her; pointed out how the skies were cloudless; the 
weather settled; assured her that by this time Frazier 
and Forbes were probably getting ready to start and 
would spend the night at Murray’s Ranch. She only hid 
her face and moaned. ‘ I have brought this upon them,’ 
she cried. ‘ I have driven them to their death.’ And I 
went off feeling almighty queer, I can tell you. 

“Yet the sun went down in cloudless splendor. There 
wasn’t a breath of air stirring. I thought I would run 
over to Stannard’s to get them out to see the sunset, 
thinking it would cheer them. But the western sky be¬ 
gan to turn yellow, not red, and I went back. At tattoo 
I tramped over to the hospital to read the barometer, 
hoping to come back and assure her that it said, ‘Set 
Fair. ’ But I went to the trader’s instead and offered Jake 
Cooley, one of our half-breed scouts, twenty-five dollars to 
make the night ride to Murray’s. He looked surprised, 
said all right, jumped off the bar where he was sitting and 
started down to the corral for his broncho; but came back 
in ten minutes and said he wouldn’t try it for fifty. The 
wind was beginning to moan about the haystacks ; and the 
guard were ordered to get their buffalo coats and overshoes. 

‘ ‘ Before dawn the windows were rattling. Still there 
was nothing really alarming in the weather. But when 
the morning light came creeping in, the air was full of 
snow-flakes again and the skies were heavily overcast. I 
won’t go into details. Those of us who were with the 
regiment that winter will never forget the blizzard that 


28 


THE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


followed. By noon a gale of seventy-five miles an hour 
was raging from the north, a blinding storm of snow from 
the sky and drifts from the surface was whirling into the 
faces of the few who dared venture forth, and the mercury 
had fallen to twenty below zero. It was simply awful. 
And not a word of news had we from Forbes or Frazier, 
even when nightfall came. 

‘ ‘ And now comes the strange part of my story : I had 
been over at Stannard’s trying hard to think of something 
to cheer or comfort that poor girl; but it was useless. 
She was either staggering up and down the room, wring¬ 
ing her hands, or else moaning on the sofa. Mrs. Stan- 
nard could do nothing to drive away her awful dread. I 
tried to assure her that Forbes was so skilled a plainsman 
that he would never think of quitting shelter on so threat¬ 
ening a morning. But she shook her head. ‘ I know him 
—I know him. He will only think of the promise he 
made me, ’ was her reply. At tattoo I left them and the 
wind blew me down the line and past my own gate and 
would have whirled me to the stables if I hadn’t grabbed 
the fence. All sentries had been drawn inside. There 
was no attempt to form companies for roll-call. Every¬ 
body was indoors. A blazing fire was roaring in our 
chimney place as I entered: but I confess I was ut¬ 
terly depressed, the girl’s foreboding had so affected 
me. It was useless to attempt rescue of any kind. 
All was dark as Erebus on the howling prairie, and 
neither man nor beast could make his way northward 
against that storm. I threw myself in my old padded arm¬ 
chair and drew it close to the hearth ; but the blast roared 
in the chimney and fairly shook the house from roof to cel¬ 
lar, rattling the blinds and sashes and driving the snow 
through every crevice. Even our old cat and her frolic¬ 
some kittens seemed uneasy and worried, and Tabby, 


THE ADJUTANT’S STORY. 


29 


who never so honored me when Jim was home, sprang 
into my lap for petting and comfort that I was too heavy- 
hearted to give; and so with querulous ‘ miaow ’ she 
went back to her brood in the basket. And there I sat, 
pretty well worn out, I can tell you, with distress and 
anxiety, thinking despite myself of all Forbes had ever 
said of coming back from the spirit world and rocking 
here in his old chair. There it stood, looking so lone¬ 
some, empty, silent, that I half turned as though to 
stretch out my hand and give it a sympathetic pat, but I 
could not reach it; it was full five feet away. And just 
then,—how he managed to blow in that storm, I don’t 
know,—but some one of the infantry buglers up at the 
north end of the parade got out on the'covered veranda 
and began to sound taps. Never in my life had I heard 
it like that: so wild, so weird, and so despairing. Many 
a time it had wailed ‘ put out your light ’ over the grave 
of some poor fellow T whom we had buried in Arizona or 
under the shadows of the mountains; but never did it 
sound to me as it did that awful night, and for the life of 
me I could not help thinking of her dream and of Jim’s 
strange promise to me. I felt a cold chill running all over 
me, and I huddled closer to the fire as the last note died 
away, completely ready now to believe with her that it 
was their requiem. And then,—then if I had needed 
something to banish the last lingering doubt, it came. Be¬ 
lieve me or not as you choose, but as true as I sit here 
and tell this story,—as true as I live and breathe,—just 
as the last note of taps died away, without a sound, with¬ 
out a touch from any source that I could see, without the 
faintest reason—Forbes’ big rocking-chair settled suddenly 
back as though he had lowered himself into it, and then 
rocked violently to and fro. 

“ No, I didn’t faint or cry out or run. I just fell back in 


30 


THE COLONEE’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


my own chair with every hair standing on end, chilled to 
the marrow. I lay back there glaring at that awful chair 
as it slowly ceased its rocking; and at last I got up, 
reached the dining-room somehow, swallowed a glass of 
whiskey and was striving to get back some vestige of 
nerve when the front door burst open and a big burly man 
plunged in. ‘ Help me get him out of the saddle! 
We’re both frozen,’ he cried, —and it was my blessed old 
Jim still in the flesh. I yelled for our striker, and in a 
moment more the three of us, between us, had lugged in 
a fur-covered stranger, too exhausted to speak. The 
horses fled to the stables down under the hill. The 
striker ran for Stannard and the doctor, and in five min¬ 
utes Helen Frazier, wild-eyed, tearful, but rejoicing be¬ 
yond all words, was kneeling by her brother’s side. 

“ ‘ I’ll be all right soon,’ he whispered at last. ‘ I’m 
not frozen. Took to the lieutenant! He made me wear 
his fur gloves and buffalo shoes.’ And then we found Jim 
had vanished to the kitchen, and there he was ankle deep 
in a tub of snow, while Bell, the striker, was plunging 
his master’s blue-white fingers into a bucket similarly 
filled. 

“And yet, with of course this exception,” proceeded 
the Adjutant after a pause, “our Christmas dinner the 
next day was the most delightful I ever knew. As though 
to make amends for its fury of the day before, the weather 
was simply perfect. Most of us went to morning service 
in our little chapel, and almost everybody came in to see 
Jim and pat him on the back, for his hands and feet were 
all done up in bandages; and over again Mr. Frazier 
smilingly had to tell of that fearful trip from Murray’s 
ranch. The wind being at their backs they had thought 
to get along all right, but soon after starting the snow got 
so thick, the gale so violent and the drifts so deep that 


THE ADJUTANT’S STORY. 


31 


they were capsized again and again, and at last the pole 
snapped short off. They abandoned the sleigh, and 
Forbes had hauled his fur gloves and overshoes on his 
companion’s resisting hands and feet, for Frazier was ut¬ 
terly unprepared for such an outing. Then Jim lifted the 
young fellow on the off horse, mounted the near one him¬ 
self, and so they were simply blown along for fifteen 
miles. Again and again the horses fell in the drifts and 
Forbes would pick Frazier up, set him back and then on 
they would plunge, blinded, breathless, almost exhausted 
and frozen stiff, when at last the poor brutes landed them 
within the shelter of the garrison. 

“ Well, that evening we had our Christmas dinner, Mrs. 
Stannard presiding at one end of the table, Stannard and 
I doing the carving for the crowd; for we had in the 
chaplain and his wife and two daughters and two of the 
bachelor officers, Mr. and Miss Frazier and Jim. Just a 
dozen, though Forbes could not sit at the table. He was 
bolstered up in that imp of a rocking-chair, with his 
bandaged feet on another, yet jolly and happy as he could 
be, for Miss Frazier cut up his turkey for him, and the 
way she blushed made her look pretty as a picture. And 
—that about ends it. I got a seven days’ leave, and Fra¬ 
zier and I made the trip to Grover City all right; and 
when I came back at the end of the week and went over 
to the Colonel’s with a package Frazier gave me for his 
sister, little Kitty Hawes showed me right into the parlor, 
and there were Jim and Miss Frazier sitting side by side 
on the sofa, and would you believe it ? instead of being 
glad to see me when she jumped up, she ran right out of 
the room, and was still red as a rose when Jim at last 
coaxed her back. She is Mrs. Captain Forbes, of the 
quartermaster’s department now, and a mighty sweet 
woman too. And her brother gained health and money 


32 THE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 

both, at San Diego, and—d,— well, as I said, that’s about 
all there was to it. ’ ’ 

“But, Mr. X.,” exclaimed two or three feminine voices 
at once, “ you haven’t accounted for that chair’s behaving 
so. I never heard anything so weird and mysterious in 
all my life.” 

“ Now do you know,” said the Adjutant, “ that thing 
puzzled me for a whole week after I got back. I wouldn’t 
tell Jim about it. It impressed me so strangely. And 
now that he was spending all his evenings at the Colonel’s 
I wouldn’t sit alone with the confounded chair. It gave 
me cold shivers to look at it, and I used to clear out and 
go calling, or down to the store, and one night I had to 
be in for a minute, and all of a sudden, just as it did the 
night of the gale, just as taps were sounding, too, that in¬ 
fernal—I beg your pardon—that blessed chair suddenly 
began to rock again. Why, you ought to have seen me 
start for the door. I grabbed my cap, flew around the 
table, and then there was a fearful, blood-curdling yell. ’ ’ 

“ Oh, Mr. X.,” shuddered the Colonel’s daughter. 

“Yes, a fearful, blood-curdling yell, I give you my 
word. You see I stepped square on to the liveliest of the 
kittens, just after the little brute had pitched off the hind 
end of that rocker. Its weight was enough to tilt back 
the chair and set it going.” 

For a moment there was a dead silence. People looked 
at one another, and then the sentiment of the entire table, 
doubtless, was voiced by the lady with the sweet blue eyes. 

“ Mr. X., I declare I think you’re a fraud.” 

The Adjutant having scored a dead failure, it seemed 
difficult for the moment to find a successor. Briggs was 
called for, but begged off on the plea that if that was a 
specimen of the light-weights’ work, it was time to call on 
the seniors. 


THE SENIOR LIEUTENANT’S STORY. 


33 


“ Not a bit of it,” boomed the Major in his ponderous 
basso. “We want to give you boys your day now—early 
in the battle, when people are not sleepy and eager to go 
home, as they may be after hearing you talk.” 

“ I appeal from the Major to the chair,” laughed Briggs, 
bowing diplomatically to the father of the feast. 

“ And the chair sustains the Major. Go on, Briggs. 
Do what you can for the sake of the subs,” replied the 
Colonel. 

“It’s too much like voting on a court,” said the lieuten¬ 
ant. “I’m glad the ladies are here to do away with the 
idea that it is a court,” and he glanced at the bright face 
smiling by his side. It gave him courage, at least. “ And 
if I’m to be the next victim, the sooner it’s over the better. 
Here goes- 


THE SENIOR LIEUTENANT’S STORY. 

“When Jack Talbot was thirty years old and had, after 
eight years’ service, attained the exalted rank of senior 
second lieutenant of his regiment, he suddenly conceived 
the idea of taking unto himself a wife. It is hard to 
say exactly what put this thought into his head, for if 
there ever was an army bachelor unsuited for matrimony, 
it was Jack. 

‘ ‘ To begin with he was as poor as the proverbial church- 
mouse, head over heels in debt (the interest he paid 
would have supported a poor family), very extravagant, 
and with about as much idea of economy or business as a 
babe—and then again he had become so wedded to his 
bachelor ways of life, that any radical change seemed 
fraught with a great deal of danger. Jack himself never 
appreciated these things—in fact he had an idea that he was 

2 * 


34 


THE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


just the man to make a most proper and excellent head of 
a family. ‘ Of course I’ll have to make a great many per¬ 
sonal sacrifices,’ he mused to himself as the idea began to 
grow on him ; ‘ no more card practice—no more staying 
out late at nights—no more fast horses—no more—in fact, 
no more foolishness,’ and Jack pulled himself together 
with a sudden virtuous determination that was delightful 
to behold ; on the other hand, however, he continued, ‘ In¬ 
stead of the aimless, shiftless existence I’ve been leading for 
some years, there’ll be something to live for—some one to 
work for—some one to brighten and cheer my quarters, 
and best of all, some one to sympathize with me when 
I’ve had a row with “ Old Graball,” who, by the way, was 
the regimental quartermaster, and the only man in the 
regiment that John detested, and with whom he was contin¬ 
ually skirmishing. Now when a man decides to marry, 
there is generally some one in his mind’s eye ; but with 
Jack this was not at all the case. In fact, this important 
feature seemed to have escaped him entirely, and he only 
thought of the future Mrs. Talbot in a general hazy sort 
of a way. ‘ Now there’ll be no false sentiments about 
this,’ he confided to his particular friend, Dick Abbey, the 
first lieutenant of his company. ‘ I intend to make this 
purely a matter of business. In the first place I shall select 
some nice, sensible, well-bred girl, who can pay her own 
mess bill, state the case to her exactly, show to her the 
mutual advantages of such a combination, and—presto ! 
the thing is done. Then we’ll settle down to a quiet, 
home-like life, live economically, pay my debts, and become 
the best of friends in the world. No, sir,’ continued Jack, 
becoming quite animated with his theme, ‘ no mawkish 
sentiments for me ; given good hard common sense, mu¬ 
tual respect and confidence, and the result is marital 
happiness.’ 


THE SENIOR LIEUTENANT’S STORY. 


35 


“ There was an amused smile on Dick Abbey’s handsome 
face, as, after listening to Jack’s homily, be said: ‘ But, 
old man suppose the girl says no ? ’ ‘ Oh, come now— 

she’ll hardly say that, you know; marriage is the 
ultimatum, or rather the mission of all women,’ Jack 
continued; ‘ there are plenty of just the kind of girls 
I’ve described to you—that would be glad of the oppor¬ 
tunity. Of course/ he continued, as Dick was about to 
reply—‘ of course I know what you are going to say— 
that marriage without love means unhappiness, or affec¬ 
tionate toleration, at the most; but really, old man, I 
think you’re entirely wrong ; who is it that says, “ Even 
perfect love cannot last more than six years ’ ’ ? Can six 
years of even ideal love repay for years and years of vain 
regret after the awakening has come, after all illusions 
have been dispelled, and after the glamour has faded and 
worn away. Nay, nay, my good Dick, prate me not of 
woman’s love.’ And Jack looked at his companion with 
an air of triumph, that reminded one strongly of Joe 
Willet after one of his celebrated arguments. 

‘ “Well, old fellow, I wish you luck,’ Dick said after 
some little silence ; ‘ you know you have my very best 
wishes, but I would advise you to consider the matter 
very carefully before taking any action,’ And declining 
Jack’s hospitable offer of a toddy, he bade him a hearty 
good-night, and left. For some time after his departure 
Jack sat silently smoking an imported cigar (one of the 
sacrifices in futuruiri) and busily engaged with the 
absorbing idea that had lately taken complete possession 
of him. Clearly his thoughts were of the pleasantest, 
for his face generally assumed a happy, contented expres¬ 
sion until it fairly beamed, and, unable any longer to 
restrain himself, he burst forth into: 

1 Where art thou now, my beloved ’— 
with (I must confess it) more ardor than harmony. 


36 THE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 

“ This was an unfortunate proceeding on his part how¬ 
ever, for it aroused old Graball, who lived across the 
hall, and who, as soon as he heard Jack singing, came to 
his door and proceeded to give a very successful imitation 
of a dog howling in great pain. 

“ For some time the harmonious blending of the voices 
was kept up, until the absurdity of the situation striking 
Jack, he ceased singing and burst into a roar of laughter, 
much to the Quartermaster’s distrust and surprise, who 
thereupon incontinently fled. 

“ Peace having been once more restored, the matri¬ 
monially disposed warrior donned his cap and cape and 
proceeded leisurely to the club to give the fellows one 
more chance before he left forever the charmed but 
wicked circle of army bachelors. It was a gala night at 
the club ; somebody was having a birthday, and Talbot’s 
appearance was hailed with cheers and cries of a hearty 
welcome. 

‘ ‘ All the bachelors were there and a few of the married 
men whose wives were temporarily sojourning in the 
Bast. The affair was highly successful—all bumpers and 
no heel-taps was the rule—and jollity and good fellow¬ 
ship reigned supreme. It is hard to particularize at this 
late date all that occurred ; it was even a moderately 
difficult thing to do the next day ; but the great event of 
the evening was a song by Captain O’Kelley, which was 
somewhat interrupted by the actions of the junior Lieu¬ 
tenant of the regiment, who insisted on shaking hands 
with the Captain after every line or two, and a speech 
made somewhat later on by Talbot, entitled ‘ Matrimony 
in the army,’ in which he strongly advocated the mar¬ 
riage of all officers, irrespective of rank. 

‘ ‘ His little effort was well received by all present except 
a few of the married officers and the irrepressible junior, 


THE SENIOR LIEUTENANT’S STORY. 


37 


who, immediately upon its close, rose somewhat unsteadily 
to his feet, and with glowing eyes and dishevelled air 
and manner desired to know if the eloquent orator in¬ 
tended anything personal in his remarks. Having been 
assured to the contrary, he gravely shook hands with 
Talbot and disappeared from view, under the table where 
he contentedly remained until the party broke up in the 
wee sma’ hours of the morning. 

“The next morning, in conformity with his new resolu¬ 
tions, Talbot omitted the customary cocktail or bracer, 
and after the completion of his morning duties proceeded 
to lay out the plans of his matrimonial campaign. 

“ Unfortunately for him, there was a scarcity of eligible 
material in the garrison ; in fact, to be precise, there were 
only two unmarried girls present—one the sister-in-law 
of Captain Dalton, temporarily visiting him, and, as she 
informed everybody, ‘ from the East. ’ 

“One requisite of Talbot’s she possessed, viz., money 
—she had money, and, rumor said, lots of it—but then, 
poor girl, she needed it. 

‘ ‘ A charming thing about our hero was his great love of 
justice or equity, as he called it, and therefore Miss 
Manon was duly entered on ‘his list,’ with probable 
amount of fortune, and traits and characteristics duly 
added. 


“‘list of eligibles.’ 

“‘No. i, Miss Dalton, &c.,’ &c., and then the list 
ended. 

‘ ‘ The other garrison girl was practically out of the ques¬ 
tion—that is, from a matrimonial point of view. 

“‘Dear winsome little Bessie Rawson.’ And Jack 
thought of her with a sigh—if she only had the wherewith; 
but it was not to be thought of, and even if she had the 


38 


THE COEONEE’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


money, there was her father, ‘ Old Rawson, ’ to consider, 
a Captain in the regiment, and one of the worst old repro¬ 
bates in it. 

“ Bessie was only nineteen, and Jack had known her 
during his entire service in the regiment; he had watched 
her develop from a shy, awkward girl into as dainty and 
pure a little woman as ever graced the sex ; and then she 
was so pretty, and withal seemed so thoroughly uncon¬ 
scious of the fact. 

“Asa child she had always been devoted to him, and as 
they were in the same company, Mr. Talbot soon grew to 
be Mr. Jack, a custom still rigidly adhered to. 

“‘No, it won’t do,’ he exclaimed after some little 
thought, ‘ it won’t do at all; but then, as she is the only 
other young girl in the garrison, I’ll put her down just to 
see how it looks.’ So down he jotted ‘No. 2, Bessie 
Rawson,’ and then quite absent-mindedly added, * No 
money, but a fortune in herself.’ 

“Having exhausted the garrison eligibles, Jack con¬ 
sidered the advisability of adding some of the girls he 
knew way back in the States ; but before he could do so, 
there came a sharp knock at the door, and following it 
the head of the irrepressible junior, with the invitation 
‘ Come up and see my new fox terrier, Jack ; he’s a bird ; 
were going to have a christening ’ and without waiting 
for a reply, slammed the door and rushed back to his 
quarters. 

“ A new dog—that was enough for Jack, and, dropping 
the list, he started in pursuit of the lucky owner of the 
fox terrier. 

‘ ‘ Now the desk at which he had been writing was nearly 
in line with one of the windows of his room, and the day 
being an exceptionally fine one for November, the 
window had been left open. 


THE SENIOR LIEUTENANT’S STORY. 


39 


“ An hour or two later, when Jack came back, the list 
had disappeared. 

^ vLf vL* vL* *1/ *±f vt* sL* vj/ 

'T' 'i' ^ ^ 

‘ ‘ Whether the disappearance of the list had anything to 
do with it, it is hard to say, but the truth is that Jack’s 
matrimonial fever abated somewhat during the next week 
or so. Not that he had given up the idea; no, indeed ; 
he still preached matrimony to the junior (whenever he 
could get that doughty warrior to listen to him), and 
religiously adhered to all his good resolutions. 

‘ ‘ November drifted rapidly away, and with December 
came a cessation of all outside duties, except the absolute¬ 
ly necessary ones, and an increase of gayeties. 

“Jack seemed to share a great deal of Miss Manon’s 
time, and it was soon an understood thing (among the 
ladies at least) that Mr. Talbot was really in earnest, 
and that an engagement might be expected soon. 

“ During this period Jack saw little of Bessie Rawson ; 
she attended the hops and parties, but generally attended 
by the young bachelor Doctor. 

‘ ‘ And what a contrast there was between the girls ! 

“Miss Manon was always gorgeous, and Jack, who really 
had an appreciation for the beautiful, would let his eyes 
wander towards Miss Rawson, charming and restful in 
the plainest of gowns. 

“ In order to repay some of their social obligations, the 
bachelors issued invitations for a swell hop on the 24th of 
December, and Jack (dreadfully pressed by some of his 
creditors), after carefully considering all the pros and 
cons, decided to strike the last blow of his campaign on 
that night. 

“ He had no fear of a refusal; the girl seemed to under¬ 
stand the affair thoroughly ; it certainly was a fair ex¬ 
change. Miss Manon wanted a husband and he wanted 


40 


THE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


money, and marriage meant—well, lie hardly liked to think 
what it might mean in the future ; and then there came 
before him the face of Bessie, with her tender eyes, win¬ 
some ways and- 

“ P’shaw !—p’raps the girl had never given him a se¬ 
rious thought—he was a fool to think of such things—to 
be sure, they have always been the best of friends and 
then p’raps after all Miss Manon might say—No, it was 
not to be thought of. Money—money—he must have it 
—he would pay off all his debts ; take a long leave ; do 
the continent, come back to the regiment and then— 
we’ll- 

“When Talbot, rather low-spirited and dejected, called 
for Miss Manon on the night of the 24th, he was positively 
startled at the girl’s appearance; she was almost pretty in 
a becoming gown, and there was a look of suppressed ex¬ 
citement on her face that added very materially to it. 

‘ ‘ And then the bright, happy manner in which she 
chatted to him ; it was a revelation. ‘ By Jove !’ thought 
he, (‘ she’s not so bad after all;’ and by the time they had 
arrived at the hat-room he was more than half reconciled 
to his apparent fate. Of course everybody was there, and 
looking around the room he caught a glimpse of Bessie 
Rawson and the Doctor comfortably seated in one of the 
comers of the room, apparently quite contented. 

“She gave him quite the brightest and happiest little 
smile when she saw him, but before he could get to her 
she was claimed and whirled out of sight. 

“ During the entire evening Talbot was restless and ill 
at ease. 

“ * After all, it wasn’t such an easy thing to propose to 
a girl. 

“ ‘ Of course, if one loved the woman it would be differ¬ 
ent ; but then to cold-bloodedly ask a girl to marry you, 


THE SENIOR LIEUTENANT’S STORY. 


41 


simply because she had money ; it was a contemptible 
thing, unmanly, cadish—but in this case quite neces¬ 
sary/ sighed the poor devil, and he waited his chance. 

“ Just before supper there was an interval of fifteen min¬ 
utes, and, seizing the opportunity, he asked Miss Manon to 
take a little stroll out on the porch—‘ I’ve something 
very important to say to you’ he continued, noticing 
her surprised expression, and together they left the hop- 
room. 

‘ ‘ There were few people outside, and they walked up 
and down for a few minutes in utter silence. 

“ Presently Jack said : 

“ ‘ Miss Manon—I,’ and then came to a dead stop. 

“ ‘ Yes, Mr. Talbot?’ encouragingly. 

“ ‘ I—Miss Manon, will you be my wife ?’ 

“‘This is very sudden, Mr. Talbot;’ her voice was 
wonderfully quiet and contained. 

“ ‘Yes, I know it’s sudden ; but then I wanted to ask you 
for some time. Of course I haven’t much to offer you. 
I’m only a poor Lieutenant in a marching regiment 
on a small salary, but—but—we’ve known one another 
for some time now, and you’ve grown very dear to me, 
and I’ll try to make you happy,’ and egged on by the 
thought of his unappeased creditors, he warmed up to his 
work and continued in the same strain for some little time. 

‘ * She listened silently to all he had to say, and when she 
raised her face to his, there was a soft light in her eyes and 
a sweet, tremulous look about the mouth that argued well 
in his behalf. 

“ ‘ And you do love me ?’ she asked 

“ ‘With all my soul,’ came his quiet reply, and Jack 
bent over until his head was suspiciously close to hers. 

“ Only a moment, and then with a quick gesture the girl 
drew herself away—‘ And now take me in, please.’ 

B2 



42 


THE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


“ ‘ But your answer ?’ he persisted. 

“ ‘Shall be my Christmas gift to you to-morrow,’ she 
replied with a bright smile, and with this he was fain 
to rest content. 

******** 

“ For some time after the hop Jack sat in front of the 
comfortable fire in his quarters smoking and thinking 
over the night’s incidents. 

‘ ‘The girl really loved him and would make him a good 
wife—that was evident; and he—well, he liked her fairly 
well. To be sure, he hadn’t told the exact truth ; but 
what was a man to say to a woman who asked such em¬ 
barrassing questions — 

‘ ‘ ‘ And you do love me ?’ 

“ Why, of course he loved her (in a way), and no doubt 
in a year or so of married life would become quite fond of 
her, and, humming softly to himself, he put out the lamp 
and went to bed. 

****** * * 

“ The next morning, when Jack came to breakfast at the 
mess, he found all the fellows there, and lying in front of 
his plate two envelopes addressed to him. 

“ He recognized Miss Manon’s writing at once—but the 
other—‘why certainly it was Bessie’s,’ and Jack opened 
it first. 

‘ Garrison, Dec. 25th, 18—. 

‘ My Dear Mr. Jack : 

‘ Do you remember a promise I made you, when I was a little 
girl (years ago), that I would tell you of my first proposal? Well, 
it has come, and I want to be the first to tell you of my engage¬ 
ment to Dr. Roberts.’ 

“ But Jack read no more. 

“ ‘So Bessie Rawson was engaged ? well what of it? 
wasn’t he—or just about to be’—and then he slowly 
opened the other envelope. 


CHILI. AND FEVER. 


43 


“ Great Heavens ! what was this? a sheet of weather- 
stained and soiled paper ; he unfolded it almost mechanic¬ 
ally, and there he saw staring him in the face the lost 
‘ List of Eligibles,’ and beneath it, in Miss Manon’s wri¬ 
ting : ‘ It’s an ill wind that blows nobody good ’—and the 
bachelors were all surprised when Talbot suddenly ex¬ 
claimed : ‘ “Damn the wind’—and left the table, his 

breakfast untouched.” 

“ A beautiful moral lesson—in one respect at least, Mr. 
Briggs,” was the Colonel’s comment, “ and I’m glad to 
learn that manners and morals have both improved in 
Talbot’s regiment since the days of which you tell. Now 
Captain Rowan, mighty hunter of the —th, people down 
this end of the table are clamoring to hear from you.” 

“ But I haven’t any Christmas story handy,” said the 
tall company commander, a bronzed, soldierly man who 
looked the stories told of him—that years of his life had 
been spent scouting, hunting, campaigning from Assini- 
boia to the Gulf. “ I never saw spirits or ghosts, like X. 
and never knew Briggs’ friend Talbot-” 

“/// tell you when you saw ghosts—Indian ghosts, 
Rowan. That was the time you were chased into Wallace. 
Tell us about that,” called Captain Wayne. 

“Well—that’s something that might happen to any¬ 
body,” laughed Rowan. “ I call it my first experience 
with 

CHILL AND FEVER. 

CHILL. 

“ Probably but a small proportion of those who read of 
the wonderful sand-storms and mirages of the African 
deserts are aware that the same, phenomena on almost 
as large a scale can be seen in our own country. Along 


44 


THE COEONEE’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


the borders of some of the streams of Oklahoma, on the 
plains of eastern Washington and Oregon, as well as on 
the Gila desert in Arizona, the sand-dunes change their 
forms with every passing wind, and the dry and shimmer¬ 
ing plains of Kansas and Nebraska, as well as those near 
Laramie and on the upper course of the Rio Grande, 
furnish miragic views which astonish and charm the 
beholder. Wide-spreading lakes tantalize the unsophis- 
ticated traveler or hunter ; a buffalo skull with a raven 
perched upon it becomes a white steed bearing a sable 
rider ; the coyote sneaking across the field of vision a mile 
away assumes the proportion of a lion, and, in the days 
of buffalo, a herd seemed often aerial nondescripts, 
deriving sustenance from the air in which they were 
apparently floating. 

‘ ‘ Prior to the opening of the Kansas Pacific Railway, and 
in fact, down to the 70’s, the whole of the country lying 
west of the settlements in Kansas, and along the Platte, 
swarmed with game of all kinds peculiar to the plains. 
Officers of the army stationed on the routes in Kansas, 
could at times count buffalo by thousands, while stand¬ 
ing at their doors ; antelope dotted the prairie in all direc¬ 
tions, or, gathered in bands of hundreds, in the autumn 
furnished sport for the hunter, as well as the finest of 
meat for the soldiers’ table. In the timber along some of 
the streams deer could be found, and among the rocky 
and storm-worn bluffs bordering other portions of the lar¬ 
ger water-courses ‘ black-tails ’ or ( mule deer ’ repaid the 
toil of the sportsman. There was a spice of danger, too, 
to give a zest to the sport, and it was not certain that the 
hunter would not become the hunted, if he ventured 
far away from his ‘ base ’ at the post or camp of the mili¬ 
tary, or the train of wagons with which he was travel¬ 
ing. 


CHILL AND FEVER. 


45 


“Fort Wallace was situated on the‘Smoky Hill Run, 
about 420 miles west of Kansas City, on the line of the 
stage-road from that place to Denver, and was for about 
three years my army home. Directly across the insignif¬ 
icant rivulet called ‘ the river, ’ and about two and a half 
miles from the garrison, the steep bluffs bordering the val¬ 
ley were broken into rough, rocky defiles and canons, 
and in them a herd of ‘ black-tails * had frequently been 
seen, during the summer and early autumn of ’70. No 
signs of Indians had been discovered near the place for 
over a year, and, thinking the venture a comparatively 
safe one, one November morning concluded to ‘ try for ’ 
a deer. My own hunting-pony was not at hand, and I 
borrowed from the corral one which had been picked 
up on the prairie some time during the season, and would 
stand fire without flinching. In fact, he would stand any¬ 
thing, and stand it all day, and as for speed, any good 
train-ox could outrun him, and he was warranted to en¬ 
dure any amount of ‘ heel-persuasion ’ his rider had lei¬ 
sure or disposition to bestow upon him. But I had no 
thought that speed would be required of him that day ; 
and leashing my dog, a powerful and speedy lurcher, I 
started early for the haunts of the deer. 

“The morning was cold, and over the lower grounds 
along the river a thick fog hid most of the country from 
view, and I found it yet more dense in the ‘ breaks * among 
the bluffs. Still, as I had a favorable wind, and could 
see a short distance, I carefully picked my way among 
the rocks, hoping to get a shot at short range. As the sun 
rose the fog became less opaque, and above it I could see 
the highest points of the bluffs, when suddenly, from 
just at the feet of my pony, a jack-rabbit sprang up and 
hopped leisurely away. The sight was too tempting for 
the dog’s obedience. A plunge or two parted the leash 


46 


THE COEONEE’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


at his collar, and away went game and hound at racing 
speed, up the ravine. I followed at the best rate of speed 
I could get out of the pony over the rocky ground, but by 
the time I had gained the head of the gorge, for such it 
became before reaching the prairie, the game had time to 
have left the country. A thin haze then hid the face of 
the landscape, and I could not trail the dog on the hard 
soil. I was at a loss which direction to take, but rode to 
the summit of the nearest swell of ground in the vicinity, 
to reconnoiter. Nothing could be seen of the dog, and I 
was turning the pony’s head to try another direction, 
when I saw something that drove dog and rabbit out of 
my thoughts. My heart gave one bound, and stopped 
beating for an instant, and the cold sweat stood out in 
bead-like drops on my face, while down my spine ran a 
chill that was ice-like in its intensity. Not more than 
a quarter of a mile away, on the next rise of ground, half 
a dozen swarthy figures loomed above the fog, and stood out 
in bold relief against the horizon, and while I looked 
others cantered up. Then, at a gallop, they started in my 
direction. ‘ How fleet is a glance of the mind ! ’ I was 
at least six miles from the post, on a pony whose best 
speed I could almost equal if on foot, if I chose to try the 
ravine for shelter. I might not at once find a place where 
they could be descended by my animal, and, once in 
them, I was liable to be lost in the fog, only to be found 
when it cleared away, with my retreat cut off—if I ran for 
home. I must ride at least three miles before I could get 
to a point where my flight could be seen by friends, and 
assistance sent. All this and more went through my 
mind like an electric thrill, and whirling the pony sharp¬ 
ly to the left, I plied the ‘ government brass ’ in a way 
that astonished him, and got all the speed out of him 
that was possible. As I looked back I could see the 


CHILL AND FEVER. 


47 


heads of my pursuers, rising and falling upon the mist, 
though apparently not gaining much. Half a mile to 
the eastward of what I had supposed to be my position 
when I started, the descent from the high prairie was 
smooth and easy, and I had directed my course for that 
point. But I found that I had lost the direction, and was 
stopped by the perpendicular wall of a branch ravine, 
which gave no foot-hold for man or beast; so turning 
squarely to my right, I continued my flight in that direc¬ 
tion. As I changed I looked back, bdt the fog hid my 
enemy from view. A few hundred yards on I reached 
the head of the ravine, and turning again to the left, rode 
in the direction of the garrison. But the pace was tell¬ 
ing on my steed, and it was only by constant use of the 
spur that I could keep him in even a moderate canter. My 
only hope was that he could hold out till I could reach 
the brow of the slope, whence smoke of shots could be 
seen at the post; then shooting him, use his body as a 
defence, and make the best fight I could, trusting that 
succor would reach me as soon as possible. By the time 
he reached it he was down to a walk, and finding a slight 
‘ wash-out,’ just at the brow, from which I could see the 
post, I halted to fight it out. As I faced southward, I 
found that a slight breeze, before which I had been run- 
ing, had dispersed the fog behind me, and my pursuers 
were nowhere to be seen. While I looked, my dog, fol¬ 
lowing the trail of my horse, came into view where I had 
struck the ravine, and a few hundred yards in his rear 
were my pursuers —a band of eleven antelopes. The dog, 
which was nearly white, had killed or lost his game, and, 
returning to me, had attracted their attention, and, with 
the curiosity which lures so many of them to their death, 
they were following him. 

“ The reaction was in a degree pleasant, but, the tension 


48 


THE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


gone, I found myself too weak to ride, and man and horse 
took a good long rest before going on to the fort. 

‘ ‘ I said nothing of my stampede, till after I had heard an 
older officer tell how he was ‘scared out of his boots’ 
at the sight of a herd of elk on Laramie plains, thinking 
them Indian ponies ; then I could afford to tell it. 

ii. FEVER. 

“ The plains of Western Kansas furnish a rich field for 
* the fossil-hunters. ’ They have in pre-historic ages 
been the bed of a shallow sea, and in the blue shale, 
which underlies most of their area, and crops out to the 
surface in the sides of the wind and rain-swept ‘ buttes, ’ 
the geologist and paleontologist find many rare and val¬ 
uable specimens. During the years in which I served in 
that region, several of the first scientists of the country 
paid visits to the sections lying about Forts Hayes and 
Wallace, and their discoveries were very valuable. They 
generally came to the posts provided with letters or or¬ 
ders from Department Commanders, or from the Secre¬ 
tary of War, directing commanding officers to furnish 
them with such escorts as could be spared, and the duty 
was one sought after by both officers and enlisted men. 
‘The professors’ were generally genial men, good talk¬ 
ers, and ready to impart information to any one who 
wished it. One, a naturalist, who looked after the things 
of the present as well as of the past ages, created a com¬ 
motion at a dinner table one day, when a small snake, 
which, for want of a better place to confine it, he had 
placed in an inside pocket of his coat, and covered with 
his handkerchief, escaped from it to the table, just as the 
company had seated themselves. The ophidian was 
harmless as my antelopes, but the stampede was as bad 
as mine, and the really strange and beautiful ‘sarpint’ 


CHILL AND FEVER. 


49 


ivas mashed out of all its proportions by the boot-heel of 
one of the gentlemen present, before it could be re-cap¬ 
tured by its possessor. 

But ‘ the champion bone-hunter, ’ as he was desig¬ 
nated by the soldiers, was a professor of paleontology from 
one of the principal eastern colleges, who was accustomed 
to make extended tours with classes of students of his 
favorite science, and who, except in the instance about to 
be related, had no use for any bones which did not ante¬ 
date Old Father Adam, and the farther back they had ex¬ 
isted, the better. Not wagon -loads only, but car-loads of 
fossils were found and shipped by him, and he was known 
to have worked for days, with a pick and spade, unearth¬ 
ing a single specimen. 

“ His first visit was made the next autumn after the 
events already related had occurred. With a dozen or 
more of students, he had spent weeks in the valley of 
Snake River, in Idaho, and, on his way back to the East, 
stopped at Fort Wallace, with three or four of his party. 
His time was limited, but he wished to take a look at the 
country, and to see a buffalo-hunt, as he had not seen any 
of the animals in a wild state. They could be found with¬ 
in a few miles of the post, and the morning after his arri¬ 
val two officers, with about half a dozen mounted soldiers, 
reported as his escort for the hunt. His party were fur¬ 
nished an ambulance for the trip, and I handed him a 
rifle and forty rounds of ammunition. The students had 
their own Winchesters. He expressed his thanks, but 
said he did not need it, ‘ had no thoughts of doing any 
shooting, was only going to look on,’ etc., but yielded on 
being told that no one was allowed to leave the post 
without being armed. The ground selected was that 
over which I had been the time before alluded to, as an 
examination of the rock-formations could be made better 
3 


50 


THE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


there than elsewhere near the post, and the officers took 
seats with the party for the time, leading their saddled 
horses, while the mounted enlisted men accompanied a 
wagon taken along to bring in the beef. Only a cursory 
examination of the rocky defiles was made, the savant 
deciding at once that they contained no fossils, and the 
party was soon near the head of one of the ravines, from 
which egress to the prairie above was practicable for vehi¬ 
cles. A man, sent ahead to reconnoiter, reported several 
small herds on the prairie not far away, and tightening 
their pistol-belts, and the ‘ cinches ’ of their saddles, the 
officers threw their outer coats into the ambulance, and 
mounted for the run. The ‘ fossil-party ’ were told that 
they could see most of the chase from some rising ground 
half a mile ahead, to which the driver was directed to 
proceed, and also cautioned to keep a look-out for other 
of the game, which was probably in other ravines, and 
would run for the prairie as soon as they ‘ winded ’ the 
hunters. 

‘ ‘ As the mounted men reached the upland, probably two 
thousand buffalo, in small herds, were in sight, some of 
them not mote than two hundred yards away. The 
charge was ordered, and, ‘every man for himself,’ the 
hunters started. I kept up the chase till both my revol¬ 
vers were emptied, and had dropped three, and then 
pulled up to find myself alone, and more than a mile from 
the nearest hunter. 

‘ ‘ There was always one danger in running buffalo in the 
Indian Country. The hunter, engrossed solely in the pur¬ 
suit of his game, lost all idea of course or distance, and a 
run of four or five miles was not an unusual thing, and 
at the end of that the sportsman found himself alone on 
the prairie, with empty pistols and a tired-out steed, in a 
most defenceless state if suddenly attacked. 


CHILL AND FEVER. 


51 


“ I was soon joined by the other officer, and we waited 
for the wagon to come up and get our game, in the mean 
time scanning the ground along the horizon for some 
sign of the ambulance. But we looked in vain, and as 
soon as the beef was loaded we retraced our steps in 
search of the Professor. Nearly two miles back we met 
one of the party, his face wearing a disgusted look, as 
though he did not think much of buffalo-hunting. To 
our inquiries about the others he replied,— 

“ ‘ I don’t know where they are. The driver took us up 
to that place you pointed out, and just as we reached it 
a small herd came rushing up from the ravines, and ‘ ‘ the 
old man ’ ’ told us to get out and get a shot, and as we 
jumped out another herd came along, and he told the 
driver to drive on, and left us out in the cold, and by that 
time the herd we had first seen had run off out of reach. 
The last I saw of the team it was away off in that direc¬ 
tion (pointing to the southwest), and I think it was run¬ 
ning away.’ 

* ‘ Turning in the direction indicated, we galloped off in 
search of the lost man, and rode nearly two miles before, 
as much farther away, we saw the ambulance halted, and 
a man apparently at work on a carcass. Riding up, we 
found the team all right, and the Professor at work. He 
was a sight ! Had killed a young bull (as the driver 
told it, ‘ had filled him too full of lead for him to carry ’), 
had lost his hat, and in lieu of it had tied a white hand¬ 
kerchief about his head,—thrown off his coat, and, with 
only a knife ‘ hacked worse than two saws,’ and which 
had been used all the trip for digging fossils, he was en¬ 
deavoring to cut off the animal’s head as a trophy. His 
hands and arms were bloody, his face dripped with per¬ 
spiration, and in trying to wipe it away he had forgotten 
that his hands were bloody, and had stained face, hair 


52 


THE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


and tlie handkerchief with gore, till he looked worse than 
a Chicago butcher. We sent the driver back to bring up 
the wagon, and then proceeded to assist in getting off the 
skin, as he said he must have it dressed and the head 
mounted. After he had returned to the post, had a bath, 
and cooled down mentally, he began to think how he 
must have looked and acted, and after his return to the 
Hast it was soon a tabooed subject. The driver’s story, 
told to his fellows, was expressed in language more forci¬ 
ble than eloquent. Leaving out the expletives, it was 
about as follows : 

“ ‘He wasn’t goin’ to shoot no buffalo ! Oh, no ! But 
after he got them } r oung fellows out, he jest went plumb 
crazy, an’ when about the third bunch of ’em run past, 
he poked his gun out past my head an’ fired right over 
my mules, an’ they went in spite o’ me. His hat blowed 
off, and I wanted to go back fur it, but he sung out not 
to mind the hat, but go on, and bime by he banged away 
again, and then the buflfaler stopped, an’ I began to cir¬ 
cle ’round him, and then the old fellow jumped out and 
was goin’ to run right up on him ; till I hollowed that 
he’d git histedif he did, and then he jest stood off, and 
pumped lead into him till he dropped. Talk about ‘ ‘ buck 
ager ”—if he didn’t have “ buflfaler fever ” I’m a tender¬ 
foot.’ 

‘ ‘ The Professor came back the next } T ear, and with him 
came one of the same party. Scarcely' had we shaken 
hands when he said, ‘ Don’t say buffalo to the old gen¬ 
tleman,—it is a sore subject.’ ” 

“ And now it is time we had a love story,” exclaimed 
Mrs. Grace. “ And there’s one man at least whom I 
know will do the subject justice. Most of you have no 
idea of it. Come, Major,” and she glanced at a tall, sol- 
dierly fellow sitting about midway along the joyous line 


TOM CARRINGTON’S CHRISTMAS GIFT. 


53 


to her left. All eyes are already centred on him. l\ love 
or war ‘ ‘ the Major ” was regarded as thoroughly at home. 

“ Drive on, Major. If any one has been there, it’s you,” 
exclaimed Briggs from his seat across the board. 

No direct reply was vouchsafed the light-hearted young 
gentleman. With much dignity of mien the Major 
waited until the applause which greeted this especial call 
had subsided, bowed to the lady of the bright blue eyes 
and then to the table collectively, and began. 


TOM CARRINGTON’S CHRISTMAS GIFT. 

“ Lieutenant Tom Carrington accounted himself an in¬ 
vulnerable man so far as matters affecting the heart were 
concerned. He had gone thrcfugh ‘ West Point ’ a shining 
light in the ‘ Bachelors’ Club,’ the only known departure 
from the tenets of his faith having been an enforced five 
minutes chat with Miss Mabel Stoughton, as he stood in 
his official capacity, watch in hand, at the door of the 
hop-room, waiting to give that awful signal which put an 
abrupt termination to tete-a-tetes, and stilled the glowing 
words upon beardless lips. This interview, short and 
unsought as it was, brought upon him some measure of 
suspicion, but he heroically lived it down and went out 
into the world the following June, with an escutcheon 
undimmed by any act of abrogation of his oath. But 
five minutes’ conversation with Miss Mabel Stoughton 
was apt to create strange havoc even in the strong-hold of 
youthful susceptibility, and as Tom Carrington walked 
to camp that night he was forced to acknowledge to him¬ 
self a remarkably pleasant sensation, and he seemed to 
hear a faint melody as of silver bells, which he coupled 
with Mabel’s voice and before his eyes was the remem- 


54 


THE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


bered glint upon ‘ curls of summer gold,’ enframing a fair 
young face. But he shook himself together and devoted 
the rest of the night to the ‘ plebs ’ who were on guard, 
who, could they have known the cause of his extra atten¬ 
tion to duty, would in their hearts have heartily cursed 
that five minutes’ delay in the beating of the drum. 

“ In the winter of 188- the Judith Basin was sparsely 
settled—only here and there, and that at long intervals, 
low, rambling sheep-sheds proclaimed the nearness of a 
Ranch. Time-honored signs had given the ranchmen 
ample indications of the coming of a rigorous winter, and 
fabulous wood-piles and tons of well-stacked hay stood as 
answer to the warning. Beyond the mountains, mostly 
amid the foot-hills, a few hastily constructed huts served 
as shelter to a little colony of soldiers, dropped there as 
a nucleus of an army post. Herds of buffalo ranged over 
the rolling prairie-land towards the west, and among the 
foot-hills elk and deer and antelope, grouse and prairie- 
hen were as yet innocent of the invasion of their realm. 
Centrally through the valley a rushing, bubbling trout 
stream tumbled its limpid waters toward the Mussel-shell, 
musical in its flow, freighted with the traditions of the hills. 
And these stately hills, stretching north and south in rug¬ 
ged, wild upheaval, hiding the crimson and passionate hues 
outlining the purple shadows of the west from the gentler 
suggestions of the nascent day, like kingly sentinels in crest 
and nodding plume, dominated the far reaches of nature’s 
gentler aspect, toward the rising and the setting sun. Busily 
the little colony worked from dawn to dark upon the rude 
shelters which were their only hope against the ruder 
blasts and snows of coming winter ; already the voices of 
the pines upon the mountain were hoarse and muttering, 
and here and there a peak, higher than its neighbors, had 
caught the hoary mask of Time and proclaimed the 


TOM CARRINGTON’S CHRISTMAS GIFT. 


55 


already numbered days of the fading year. Bedecked in 
sombre vestment, the darkening mountain lay waiting for 
the shock of winter’s battle, with here and there a crim¬ 
son gleam of ivy showing, like a ‘ rose which the west 
has flung ’ within the coil of a woman’s raven hair while 
along its rugged sides the echoes played of hammer and 
axe and human call from the busy slope below. But time 
and labor accomplish most things and November’s sway 
had scarce begun when the little garrison was snug as 
need be for the winter. Only a couple of companies con¬ 
stituted the garrison, with a Major in command, and two 
short of the half-dozen officers whose names were borne 
upon the rolls ; but, then, there was the Dr., and he was 
worth the other two and one to spare, beside. 

‘ ‘ There had been a good deal of speculation among the 
juniors as to why the Major insisted upon that extra 
room with two windows, with a southern exposure, espec¬ 
ially as time was limited and the men overworked beside, 
and when, upon mutual inspection and comparison of the 
preparation for the long months to come, the dainty fitting 
of this apartment was revealed to their astonished gaze, 
with its light oak furnishing and accessory of blue and 
white, its heavy rugs and bright warm curtains ready to 
swing into graceful folds in opposition to encroaching 
blasts, ‘ Confusion was worse confounded,’ and Mrs. Wil¬ 
der vouchsafed no explanation and the Major held his 
peace as a wise and dutiful husband should. 

‘ ‘ A couple of evenings later, Dr. Archer and Lieutenant 
Bliss, of the —th foot, were seated within the rather narrow 
limits of that particular log hut which had been reared 
for the accommodation of themselves and one other, and 
which had been considered in the present emergency 
adequate to the dignity of their rank and years, and were 
in the enjoyment of one of those pauses in their game of 


56 


THE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


chess which the replenishment of the fire and their pipes 
required, and had, for the moment, forgotten the very 
threatening attitude which the Dr.’s Queen’s Bishop had, 
by a masterly play j ust assumed, to discuss the important 
matter as to whether lemon was an adjunct or real neces¬ 
sity in a ‘ hot scotch ’ brew—when Lieutenant Tom Car¬ 
rington and a gust of wind darted simultaneously into 
the room to the extinguishment of the light and the tem¬ 
porary change of subject. ‘ Why the devil don’t you 
come down the chimney, Tom, or give notice of your 
approach—one might prepare against the combination of 
Tom Carrington and Boreas in such a case.’ 

“ ‘ Teddy, I’m truly sorry, for light has such a mellowing 
influence upon your voice and,’ scratching a match, ‘ I’ll 
wager anything that you fellows are in your hearts glad to 
be rid of the sight of each other even for a moment; but, 
there you are again, so take up the thread of your argu¬ 
ment, and peace be unto you,’ and Mr. Carrington began 
softly whistling an air from Erminie, as he divested him¬ 
self of top-coat and boots, and encased his feet in his slip¬ 
pers and his form in his smoking jacket. ‘ By the way, 
did anybody say—Welcome ! Tom ? for if not, there may 
be a dearth of information, which I am prepared to 
impart. ’ 

“ 1 Welcome ! Tom—thrice welcome ! ’ came in chorus 
from two pairs of healthy lungs. What is it ? Hurry up, 
delays are dangerous—suspense, death.’ 

“ ‘Gently, gentlemen; gentle subjects should be ap¬ 
proached with deference, and, indeed, upon second 
thought, I think it hardly decorous to utter a young 
lady’s name in an atmosphere reeking with tobacco and 
lemon and things, as this is. I won’t; but shall simply 
content myself with the announcement that unto the 
house of Mrs. Major Wilder a guest is coming for the 


TOM CARRINGTON’S CHRISTMAS GIFT. 


57 


winter, and that guest is a young lady, and that now the 
mystery of the ‘ 4 spare-room ’ ’ is settled and that to-mor¬ 
row I, Thomas Carrington of the —th foot, depart upon a 
journey, “and further deponent saith not,”’ and the 
notes of the lullaby song in Erminie fell upon the air 
once more, and a wreath of smoke from the lips of Lieu¬ 
tenant Carrington went curling toward the mantel, in an 
interval of pause. 

‘ ‘ ‘ And is that all that we are to hear ; will your Lordship 
deign not one other word upon this momentous matter/ 
exclaimed Teddy Bliss with a tone of genuine exaspera' 
tion. 

“ ‘ The subject is dismissed, gentlemen ; you may resume 
your game, ’ remarked Carrington with the mock tones of a 
commanding officer; and the others knew, with all his 
assumed mannerism, that he had his own reasons for say¬ 
ing no more upon the subject; but Teddy Bliss could not 
resist the temptation of a final word which assumed the 
rather indefinite form of—* Well, I’ll be-’ 

“ ‘ Indeed you will, Teddy,’ interrupted Carrington, ‘if 
you do not control that unruly member,’ and with the 
expression of the hope that his companions might have 
sweet repose, happy dreams, sweet tempers and patience, 
he filed into the little alcove which he designated his 
‘ sleeping apartment ’ and disappeared for the night. 

“ By way of preparation, not only for the expected vis¬ 
itor, but also for the long months of isolation staring the 
little garrison in the face, Major Wilder had despatched 
an ‘ escort wagon ’ to the nearest town (some hundred 
miles distant) for such articles of comfort and luxury as 
the Inspector General had not recommended as necessary 
or advisable among the ‘ stores which may be sold for 
cash ’ to officers of the U. S. Army, and this wagon was 
to call on its return at a certain ranch in the Judith Basin 
3* 


58 


THE COEONEE’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


for such luggage as Miss Mabel Stoughton might see fit 
to turn over to its driver, which latter part of the pro¬ 
gramme had remained a matter ‘ lacking announcement’ 
until a few moments before Lieutenant Carrington’s 
abrupt entrance into the society of the Doctor and Lieu¬ 
tenant Bliss, and the subsequent interchange of the 
amenities of social converse cited above. 

“ On this particular evening, with some degree of men¬ 
tal speculation as to the nature of Mrs. Wilder’s ‘ matter 
of importance ’ concerning which she wished to see Lieu¬ 
tenant Carrington, that young gentleman had hastened 
to her quarters, and had received so much of the informa¬ 
tion regarding the matter at issue as has been already 
imparted to the reader—and more. Partially in fulfill¬ 
ment, Mrs. Wilder explained, of a long-standing engage¬ 
ment with her Boston friend and schoolmate, Miss 
Edith Barnes, whose father was trying the experiment of 
a ‘Sheep Ranch’ in the Judith Basin, in the hope ot 
regaining some of the health which the east-wind of 
Boston had seriously impaired, and partly that she might 
be within hailing distance, as it were, of his half-sister, 
Mrs. Wilder, when that lady should be ready to receive 
her, Miss Stoughton had been only a day’s ride from them 
for several weeks, and the appointed time of her visit to 
the post had arrived The Major had intended riding 
over for her himself, but he was suffering so much with 
his old enemy, the gout, that he found it impossible to go 
and, would not Lieutenant Carrington come to the rescue ? 
She knew she could trust Mabel to him, knowing that 
he would take the best of care of her. He could go over 
on the following day and return the next, staying the 
intervening night at the ranch. Of Miss Mabel Stough¬ 
ton’s relationship to Mrs. Major Wilder the young man 
had been profoundly ignorant till that very moment. In 


TOM CARRINGTON’S CHRISTMAS GIFT. 


59 


the one year and a half he had been away from the 
‘ academy, ’ his mind had often reverted to that five min¬ 
utes at the hop-room door, and always with a certain 
thrill of pleasure which he could not understand. He 
had never, that he remembered, met any one quite so fair 
as she had seemed to him during the shortness of his 
interview—‘ the rose lip’s witching glow ’ upon the cheek, 
her golden hair, the tone of her low and musical voice, 
he had often thought of them ; but he had never thought 
to meet her again. There had been no ‘ bliss at meeting, 
no parting pain. ’ She had been but a fair figure upon 
the fair earth, as it passed by his point of view, so that 
Mrs. Wilder’s request somewhat staggered him. 

“ ‘ I am always at your service, Mrs. Wilder,’ he re¬ 
plied, ‘ and shall be most happy, if you think the young 
lady will not fear to venture—what did you say was 
the name ? ’ and as he heard it repeated he looked as 
though it had never dwelt pleasantly upon his ear before, 
and felt as though that kind destiny, which shapes our 
ends, overshadowed him. 

“As Carrington approached the ranch the following 
afternoon the tones of a piano smote upon his ear in ac¬ 
companiment to two voices, which came to him 

‘ Like the sweet South 
That breathes upon a bank of violets ; ’ 

so he paused and listened till the music ceased, and, look¬ 
ing far off toward the distant hills, over the stretches of 
lonely prairie, into the unfathomable depths of trackless 
grass-land innocent of human habitation, thought how 
little it took to give the semblance of beauty to the world’s 
waste places. But if his surprise were great, it was not 
more so than that of the two young ladies who, hearing the 
sound of wheels, turned to look upon the tall, handsome 


60 THE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 

young officer who was reining in at the door and who a 
moment later presented his credentials in form of a letter 
from Mrs. Wilder. There was no instant recognition on 
Miss Mabel’s part of her former unwilling captive. His 
appearance seemed to feebly awaken some memory, but 
nothing very tangible; not till the drift of conversation 
led back to the ‘ Point ’ and individual experience there, 
did it dawn upon her that in her coming escort she beheld 
the ‘ member in good standing ’ of the ‘ Bachelor Club. ’ 

‘“It was very good of you, Mr. Carrington, to so far 
subdue your principles as to consent to an eight-hour 
drive with a young lady to whom you once begrudged 
five minutes, ’ remarked Miss Mabel as that evening they 
were speaking of the morrow’s ride. 

“ ‘ I think my principles only awaked, where your sex 
is concerned, after graduation, Miss Stoughton. I hadn’t 
quite formed any before ; I was rather afraid of the sub¬ 
ject, you see,’ replied Carrington. ‘ Really, though, I hope 
to atone for any past sins of omission by religious devo¬ 
tion to your sex in the future. Pray accept yourself my 
first cry of surrender. ’ 

“ ‘ It will be hard upon you, I know, but I will promise 
to be very generous and help you through the ordeal,’ 
said Mabel; ‘ but tell me, Mr. Carrington, did you ever 
forgive me for entrapping you that night ? ’ 

“ ‘I think the drum was all that saved me from ab¬ 
solute capitulation—there is a note of forgiveness in that 
confession, is there not ? ’ answered Carrington. 

u As they were talking, the rumble of wheels heralded 
the approach of the wagon, and as the start was to be an 
early one, the young lady’s trunks were loaded that night, 
and the next morning, before the sun had climbed one- 
third the way to the zenith, Carrington and his fair charge 
were bowling along toward the Judith River. 


TOM CARRINGTON’S CHRISTMAS GIFT. 


61 


“ It was Sunday morning and there was a Sabbath tone 
in the air, and Carrington stole a glance at the lovely girl 
beside him ; he did not wonder that it ‘ seemed no task 
for the sun to shine upon so fair a picture. ’ Altogether the 
young gentleman’s state was a happy one, and he men¬ 
tally evoked a blessing upon the Major for his opportune 
attack of gout, upon Mrs. Wilder, first, for having so 
sweet a sister, and again for her part in his assignment to 
the pleasant duty before him—blessed that strange fate, 
In fine, which had laid his lines in such pleasant places. 
But a single little cloud drifted across the sky of his con¬ 
tent, which assumed the features of that arch-tormentor, 
Mr. Teddy Bliss. He could hear in anticipation that young 
man’s congratulations upon his success in having 
achieved a triumph over his well-known diffidence; he 
could hear the pointed shafts which should inquire as to 
the probable duration of his willingness to associate with 
ordinary humanity, and whether he (Teddy) would be 
expected to indulge a new suit in view of the coming 
event; he knew he would stop at nothing, and he was 
very fond of Teddy, but—‘ well, if he does I shall simply 
choke him, and that’s all about it,’ was his mental re¬ 
solve. 

‘ ‘ ‘ What did you say, Mr. Carrington ? ’ inquired Miss 
Mabel, rather astonished at the unexpectedness of this 
last part of Tom’s unwittingly-outspoken resolve ; ‘ whom 
do you wish to choke ; not me, I trust ! ’ 

“ ‘ I beg pardon,’ pleaded Carrington ; ‘ I was thinking 
of-’ 

“‘Never mind his name,’ interrupted Mabel, ‘but 
please retain your faculties in this immediate vicinity ; 
that off-horse of yours will need all the attention which I 
can afford to dispense with myself.’ 

“ ‘ Oh, he’s all right; he has only caught the infection 


62 THE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 

of happiness from his master ; besides, he is proud of his 
burden to-day.’ 

“ And at that moment a ‘ coyote ’ slunk across the road, 
and his horse, not liking the skulking brute’s appearance, 
made a dash for freedom, and for a couple of hundred 
yards Carrington had his hands full; but he presently 
quieted them down, and, looking at Mabel, who had be¬ 
haved admirably, remarked : ‘ Splendid, Miss Stoughton ; 
you’re a trump ! ’ 

“ ‘Thank you,’ said Mabel, who was pale as death, but 
could not resist the interrogatory : ‘ Of what suit, Mr. 
Carrington ? ’ 

“ ‘ Hearts, of course ; but here’s the river ; ’ and Car¬ 
rington noticed that under the influence of the ‘ Chin¬ 
ook,’ which had come up in the night, it had risen, and 
he concluded to see the wagon over safely before crossing 
himself. 

“Looking at his watch, he found it just high noon, 
and a few moments later the wagon came rumbling down 
the hill behind them, and, at a sign from him, dashed 
into the stream, struck boldly across, and, when nearly 
at the other bank, stalled. There was a led horse behind 
the wagon, and he, taking advantage of the situation, 
proceeded to drink ; but scarcely had his lips touched the 
water when there came from up the river a sound as of a 
dozen cannons, and a moment later huge blocks of ice, 
impelled with terrific speed, bore down upon the stalled 
wagon. Faster and faster came the ice ; higher and 
higher it piled against the wagon’s side, which now 
listed down stream. A moment more and animals and 
vehicle would be swept away in the irresistible flow. 
‘ Cut the traces and save the animals and yourself,’ 
shouted Carrington, which, with the assistance of a man 
to whom he had given a ‘ lift,’ the driver was able to do, 


TOM CARRINGTON’S CHRISTMAS GIFT. 


63 


and an instant later down the seething, on-rushing, pitiless 
flood, wagon and led-horse—first one on top, then the 
other—disappeared round a curve, five hundred feet be¬ 
low. Carrington’s first thought was of Mabel’s trunks, 
and they found expression : 

“‘My God! Miss Stoughton, your trunks, your 
trunks! * 

“ ‘ I was thinking of that poor horse, ’ she said ; ‘ if 
only you can save him ! His look of dumb despair will 
haunt me forever.’ 

“‘That’s the gentlewoman of it,’ said Carrington. 

‘ Wait here till I run down the bank, the wagon may have 
lodged,’ and true enough, hurled by the force of the 
water in a head of the stream, it had been thrown upon a 
sand-bar high and dry, or nearly so, and in the midst, with 
a look of patient inquiry upon his face, stood the led-horse, 
intact. To cross themselves was impossible, and their 
wagon was ruined, the hind wheels gone and it a wreck. 

Mr. Carrington’s trying situation had hitherto been the 
result of a sympathetic relationship with the heroes of 
those sensational works which had chanced to come to 
his notice ; the last few moments had assigned to himself 
the principal part in what seemed to him a most tragic 
one. Retreat was impossible, for behind him every 
‘ coulee ’ by this time was a torrent itself; he felt himself 
impelled to quick and decisive action. 

“‘Miss Stoughton,’ he said; ‘our position is one of 
the most extreme embarrassment; we can neither go back 
or forward. I shall send one of these men to the Post for 
succor. Will you give yourself into my keeping, freely, 
as my own sister would, feeling that I will care for you 
as tenderly. Your bed must be upon the prairie, but with 
the wraps and robe in the buggy I can at least shelter 
you from cold.’ 


64 


THE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


“ Mabel Stoughton had as stout a heart as ever beat 
within a woman’s breast, but certainly it was put now to 
a crucial test. She had lost everything and now found 
herself, at the approach of night, alone upon the broad 
prairie with a man whom she had known for five min¬ 
utes only, before he had come, the night previous, to take 
her for an eight hours’ ride through an almost uninhab¬ 
ited country, but that man wore the cloth which pro¬ 
claimed to her the gentleman in every man who donned 
it and she never faltered. She saw Carrington’s distress 
and pitied him. Putting her little hand in his, she looked 
up to him with eyes all full of pity and of trust, and 
simply said : ‘ Fate has overtaken us, my friend ; we will 
brave it out together. ’ 

‘ ‘ ‘ God bless you ! ’ he answered ; * you have given me 
the fairest glimpse of womanhood I have ever known.’ 

‘ ‘ It was long after midnight—the moon had been look¬ 
ing calmly down, shedding a dower of light upon the 
earth and silvering the surface of the rushing water. 
Scarcely a breath of air was stirring, but it was growing 
colder. High up above the tree-tops, over in the west, a 
few clouds came drifting lazily along—occasionally a 
moan came from the distant hillside—the bark of a dog, 
distant, indistinct, from somewhere beyond the river, fell 
upon the watcher’s ears, sharp, insistent—an owl’s un¬ 
friendly hoot sounded in hollow mockery—the shadows 
which the moon had painted lengthened out into the 
plain, shifting slowly and in grotesque shapes—the weird 
impressions of the night filled all of Nature’s spaces. 
Carrington was looking with some dread at the drifting 
clouds, knowing that in every one of them was ‘ some 
story of storm to come or past, ’ and he prayed that God 
would temper the wind to his precious charge. Just then 
a coyote barked and Mabel awoke. 


TOM CARRINGTON’S CHRISTMAS GIFT. 


65 


“ ‘Were you praying, Mr. Carrington ? ’ she asked. 

‘ ‘ ‘ Execrating that coyote for having disturbed you 
Miss Stoughton. ’ 

“ ‘ No, sir ! you were praying, and I waked up to say 
Amen ! good-night,’ she said. 

‘ ‘ And the stillness was unbroken 
And the silence gave no token,’ 

till by and by a faint flush crept over the eastern hills 
and brought across the ‘ threshold of the skies ’ the 
blessedness of dawn. 

4 ‘ An inspection of the river discovered the feasibility 
of crossing; the waters which the day before had burst 
through the the ice-dam, carrying ruin in their path, had 
passed by, leaving a wreck to tell the story of their fury 
—now the stream flowed musically on and nothing barred 
the way to progress. The ominous clouds which had so 
disturbed Carrington during the night had dissolved, the 
canopy of heaven was one unbroken field of blue and, as 
the pink of dawn brightened into the golden glory of day, 
the travelers left the river behind them and headed for 
the distant hills. Midway between the scene of their 
mishap and the post they met the relief party, which they 
sent to gather up what they could from the wreck and, 
a couple of hours later, Carrington deposited his charge 
at the door of the Major’s hut and in the arms of her 
anxious sister. Leaving her, Carrington said, 4 You will 
understand, if I do not call this evening ? ’ and for a 
moment Mabel did not understand, but an instant later 
she appreciated his thoughtful kindness and thanked him 
in her heart. 

4 4 Of course, speculation as to the non-appearance of the 
travelers was rife throughout the little settlement the 
night before ; the Major’s gout, owing to his excited state 


66 


THE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


of mind, gave him an added twinge, which in no way 
tended to temper his irascibility. Mrs. Wilder, kind 
and gentle woman that she was, felt that some good rea¬ 
son had detained them ; but Mrs. McFarlane, whose forty- 
five years of ‘ following the drum ’ had been innocent of 
any known expression of charitable thought for any 
human being, shook her head ominously, till the little 
curls at the back of her neck danced like puppets upon 
the expanding field of her fair shoulders. To her Lieut. 
Teddy Bliss felt himself constrained, in defence of his 
friend, to remark that he had known Miss Stoughton for 
some time, and Lieut. Carrington for years—that both 
belonged to that category of gentility to whom a com¬ 
promising situation was impossible, and that he regretted 
the enforced conviction that there were some people, who 
did not, with which satisfying shot he left the object 
of his remarks to pursue undisturbed her communing 
with the stars, and passed on and into the seclusion of his 
own domain. Mabel, as was to be expected, took the 
garrison by storm ; her beauty, the gracious and gentle 
manner which she had for all, from the Major down to 
the striker, won her only friends, and under the modify¬ 
ing influences which she exerted, even Teddy Bliss 
dropped his cynicism and became a wonder of metamor¬ 
phosis. 

“ The last month of the year had come and the storm 
kings were gathering their forces ; the little garrison gave 
over its excursions to distant points, in deference to the 
ominous mutterings of winter. Cards and cosy little sup¬ 
pers, rambles over the neighboring hills, and occasional 
forays upon the Ranch, down the valley, filled up the 
spaces of their time. Carrington had no occasion to 
‘ choke ’ Teddy Bliss; that young gentleman’s views 
of life underwent perceptible modification, and few were 


TOM CARRINGTON’S CHRISTMAS GIFT. 


67 


the days when, at one hour or another, he did not saunter 
over to the Major’s ‘ for the bracer the sight of that splen¬ 
did girl gives one, you know,’ as he said to the Doctor. 
Carrington’s position toward the young lady he defined 
more accurately himself than others who had busied 
themselves in the matter. He had become very fond of 
Mabel, of course, as had everybody, but he had said no 
word of love to her; he did not flatter himself that she 
would be inclined to listen if he did ; the accident that 
had thrown them together, under circumstances out of 
common, had no bearing, to his mind, upon the case at 
all—in fact, it would have rather had the effect of retard¬ 
ing any declaration, had he thought of making one. 
Once or twice, of a night, when he and Teddy and the 
Doctor were sitting round the blazing lqgs, within the en¬ 
closure of their own four walls, and, tired of talk, had 
settled themselves, with their pipes, for a little self-com¬ 
muning, before bidding each other and the world good¬ 
night, his fancy had wrought out of the glowing coals 
pictures fair to look upon, and from out the picture look¬ 
ing up at him were eyes of heaven’s own blue, and within 
his own, a little hand, soft and warm, lay passively, with 
now and then a gentle pressure responsive to a heart¬ 
beat, and as the ashes settled white and thick upon the 
embers, and the fading light had its suggestion of clouds 
drifting across his sky (the shadows of earthly trouble), 
the pressure of the hand grew stronger, and from out the 
gloom a soft, sweet voice seemed to come laden with the 
tones of comfort and the accents of hope, and, yielding to 
the soothing influences of the hour, and of his fancy, he 
would close his eyes and let this ‘ dream of delicate beauty 
melt into his heart’s recess.’ 

“ The Christmas season was fast approaching, and ever¬ 
greens and rose-berries and such pretty grasses as reared 


68 


THE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


their nodding tassels above the snow were brought into 
requisition wherewith to bedeck their humble dwellings, 
and on Christmas eve there had been a supper party and 
some singing at the Major’s, and Teddy had announced 
that he proposed to hang up his stocking and thought, 
considering his youth, that Carrington should do the 
same, and the ladies had all agreed that if they did they 
should find them filled in the morning, and Carrington 
had asked ‘ Mabel ’ what he might expect from her, and 
she had told him that really she did not know ; that, after 
Mr. Bliss’ remark, she should have to think of something 
suited to his years, at which Mrs. Wilder spoke up and 
said: ‘Don’t worry, Mr. Carrington; I might tell you 
more about that myself than I shall; wait and see. * And 
as the little clock upon the mantel chimed out the mid¬ 
night hour a very fair chorus of voices sang a Christmas 
hymn and so they parted. For several days a large body 
of Indians had been camped some three or four miles be¬ 
low the park, a few of whom had been in to exchange a 
friendly greeting, and a night or two previous two or 
three of them, having obtained some liquor, became trou¬ 
blesome and, indeed, had fired upon the guard in their 
effort to expel them, but nobody had been hurt and the 
Major had let it go, thinking it only a drunken, crazy 
freak which would not be repeated. Christmas Day 
dawned bright and beautiful, and many of the men had 
early set off to hunt in the mountains, leaving but a very 
small number to guard the Post. There had been some 
talk of a sleigh-ride in the afternoon down to the Ranch, 
but an incident occurred which changed the plans of all 
concerned and brought the speculations of Mrs. O’Keefe 
and some others to an end. 

“Toward the middle of the morning there appeared 
down the valley, far as the eye could reach, a long, 


TOM CARRINGTON’S CHRISTMAS GIFT. 


69 


black moving line winding in and out through the curv- 
ings of the road and becoming gradually more distinct. 
Carrington was standing with Mabel near the Major’s 
door admiring the wintry picture outspread before them, 
and she had j ust told him that for his audacity the night 
before in asking for it, she should not give him the pres¬ 
ent she had intended, and he had begged to be placed on 
probation till the New Year, when their eyes chanced to 
rest upon this long, dark, moving mass, filing into the 
plain below them and form into line, then move slowly 
forward. There were some two hundred warriors, splen¬ 
didly mounted—equipped for battle—the sunlight flash¬ 
ing from their rifle-barrels, their gaudy feathers tossing 
in the wind. Steadily they moved forward, chanting a 
wild, weird song, while before them one warrior rode from 
right to left and left to right in wild careering, flourishing 
a scalp-lock upon a pole and evidently leading in the song. 

. One by one they saw the men slip quickly within their 
quarters and then reappear. It was a new sight to Car¬ 
rington. It might mean nothing—it might mean much. 
To Mabel it meant everything. But the one idea had 
fastened upon her brain. It was to be but the repetition 
of Fetterman and the Little Big Horn, and as Carrington 
turned to go, saying he would find out what it was and 
come soon to tell her, and noticed the look of terror upon 
her face, he knew that her fears were not for herself alone. 
Looking again at the line he saw it halted, and the leader 
in parley with the officer of the day. 

“ ‘See, Mabel,’ he said ; ‘it is nothing—only a Christ¬ 
mas visit; but may not I have this for my Christmas gift ?’ 
And he stooped and kissed her, and Mrs. Wilder from 
her point of vantage at the window saw, and mutely sent 
them her blessing.” 

‘‘It’s the Quartermaster’s turn,” suggested Miss Dot 


70 


THE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


at this moment, while people were glancing about the 
table as though in search of the next victim. 

“Yes, of course, ’ ’ loudly seconded Mr. Briggs. ‘ ‘ Come, 
Vouchers, something’s got to be done to redeem the Staff 
since X.’s fizzle.” 

The Colonel laughed as he turned to his junior staff 
officer. ‘ ‘ Never you mind what Briggs says, Mr. Quar¬ 
termaster. The staff can take care of itself.” 

“That’s precisely the trouble, Colonel,” shouted the 
irrepressible Briggs. ‘ ‘ What we would like is that the 
staff should occasionally take care of somebody else.” 
Whereat there was a burst of laughter. The line is ever 
ready to applaud a hit at the staff. But the Quartermas¬ 
ter only grinned—and began : 


THE QUARTERMASTER’S STORY. 

“ Shortly before the 55th Cavalry was ordered to Ari¬ 
zona, Captain Sabres had quite an acquisition to his troop 
in the person of his second lieutenant; and as he occupies 
a somewhat prominent position in this narrative, a brief 
description seems almost unavoidable. 

“ Imagine ‘ Granville de Vigne,’ * Sabretasche,’ 1 Curly,’ 
or any other beau sabreur who is ‘ Ouida’s ’ conception of 
a cavalryman ; then divest him of his paraphernalia and 
habiliments, place to his credit the moderate bank account 
of the average second lieutenant, allow him quarters and 
emoluments in accordance with his rank, and you will 
have a fair idea of Lieutenant Kvan Tavistock. 

‘ ‘ He was of that same immaculate order of being as 
those sybarites whom I cite, and fancied his environment 
in every way similar to theirs. One meeting him and 
conversing on such topics as his antique bronzes, his old 


THE QUARTERMASTER’S STORY. 


71 


master paintings, his rare china, his thoroughbreds and 
his traps, would scarcely believe that his sleeping apart¬ 
ment was carpetless and his ivory bedstead a common 
hospital cot. But such was really the case ; and his ex¬ 
aggerated style and absurd pretention soon made him the 
laughing stock of the regiment. 

‘ ‘ Nevertheless he was so thoroughly good-hearted and 
unselfish, bore chaffing so well, and was all in all such a 
divine, undisguised ass that none could truthfully say 
they disliked him. 

* ‘ Mr. Tavistock had been in Arizona about one month 
when he was ordered out in pursuit of deserters. He 
reached Fort Burns—forty miles distant—and there tar¬ 
ried ; sending the sergeant on after the fugitives, because 
it was such a * blawsted bore ’ to go himself. When he 
learned that there were three brides and several young 
women at Burns, he felt greatly annoyed that he had not 
fetched a few of his trunks. To be sure he had his top- 
boots with their silver screw spurs, and his visorless cap 
upon his person ; but his wardrobe consisted of his cordu¬ 
roy breeches and a jacket with huge orange plush 
shoulder-straps. He felt in a measure relieved when he 
perceived that his attire was entirely unlike that of the 
other officers ; it implied distinction, he thought. At the 
same time he could not fancy it the correct thing in con¬ 
nection with brides, young women and dinner parties. 
He liked the garrison immensely ; and there he enjoyed 
himself during the week that his sergeant was taking in 
Tucson’s places of amusement in quest of the missing 
troopers. 

‘ ‘ Though it did not take the veterans at Burns long to 
diagnose Mr. Tavistock’s case, yet by the ladies he was 
pronounced perfectly charming. In describing to them 
his surroundings at Fort Davenport, he had used ‘ de 


72 


THE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


Vigne’s ’ own words ; and it was not easy for these credu¬ 
lous ones to believe it was all fancy or deception. In 
taking leave of them, he invited all to eat their Christmas 
dinner with him at Davenport, promising them wild 
turkeys and other good things. He even went so far as 
to tell the belle of the garrison that if she would agree 
to come, he would run over for her and ‘ tool her down in 
his tilbury ! ’ 

“Not long after his return to Davenport Lieutenant 
De Canter had occasion to visit Burns on official business. 
While there he naturally heard much of Tavistock, and 
learned many details respecting the young man’s visit. 
He was not surprised to hear of the glowing account 
Tavistock had given of Davenport—of his quarters, his 
horses and his traps—for that was the creature’s way. 
But he really was amazed when he learned of the general 
invitation to dine with him, which several of the fair ones 
were anxious to accept. One of them, in fact, came to 
De Canter and begged him to use his influence with Mrs. 
Trolls to persuade her to chaperon them. 

‘ ‘ De Canter reflected that it might be a capital scheme 
to let the ladies go over, anticipating a royal dinner with 
Tavistock, he not to know of their advent until too late 
to provide for them. This would naturally mortify him, 
and might result in curing him of his absurd conceit. 
De Canter had little difficulty in persuading Mrs. Trolls 
to go, and he advised the beauty not to wait for Mr. 
Tavistock and his ‘ tilbury,’ but to come in the regula¬ 
tion army landau, with its mule motive-power. 

“ De Canter chuckled to himself as he mused on his 
diplomacy, and the huge joke he had put up on Tavis¬ 
tock. But it might have been more huge, had it not been 
of that common brand—‘ too good to keep.’ He felt that 
he must have some one to enjoy it with him ; so before 


THE QUARTERMASTER’S STORY. 


73 


he had been back at Davenport half an hour he had let 
two others into the secret. These regarded it precisely 
as he had, so they followed his example and told others ; 
consequently the whole garrison, Tavistock included, 
knew of the entire plan a whole week before Christmas. 

When it was learned that Tavistock was well in¬ 
formed on the subject, general regret was expressed. De 
Canter tried to defend his loquacity by saying it would be 
an utter impossibility for the fellow to give a decent dinner 
any way ; and, as the invited guests were surely coming, 
the awkwardness of Tavistock’s position would be just 
as great. 

“ From this date poor Tavistock was made the target 
for no end of chaff. The fellows went for him unmerci¬ 
fully, asking him if the dinner was to be ‘ a la Russe ’ or 
‘ How ? ’ If the turkey was to be stuffed with his old 
puns in lieu of chestnuts, and if he expected to catch his 
menu card in the draw. These and similar asininities, 
well calculated to annoy and exasperate, had no effect 
whatsoever upon Tavistock. In fact he accepted all their 
chaff pleasantly, and in the most approved Hyde Park 
fashion. 

“There were others in the garrison, however, who 
were far more exercised as day after day passed and they 
saw no preparation being made for the promised repast; 
and they wondered how Tavistock expected to escape 
from his dilemma. He apparently never gave the matter 
a thought, but was far from idle. When he finally com¬ 
prehended that there was on foot a preconcerted scheme 
to embarrass and make him appear ridiculous, he at once 
determined to do the best he could in the way of a dinner. 
And with this resolve buried in his heart and sealed on 
his lips, he sought the post trader. From this individual 
he, for a modest stipend, borrowed everything he could 
4 






74 


THE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


possibly need in the way of china, glasses, knives, forks 
and spoons. His own trunks furnished the table linen, 
which was of fine quality, having once graced the table 
of his great-grandfather. With the assistance of his 
striker, he had already purloined from vacant quarters 
several tables—the property of the government—and 
these, when arranged in line and covered with a hand¬ 
some cloth, really made a very respectable banquet board. 
Horseshoe-nails were substituted for nut-picks, just be¬ 
cause they smacked of the service; and having quietly 
and satisfactorily attended to these preliminaries, he de¬ 
tailed a man from his troop to act as chef, and ordered the 
great dinner. 

“ It was the 25 th of December. Tavistock regarded it 
as a stroke of good fortune that he was officer-of-the-day. 
The guests, who would shortly arrive, were sufficiently 
conversant with army matters to know that many duties 
pertained to this office, and would excuse his frequent ab¬ 
sences. Time would thus be given him, to be used to his 
own advantage. ‘ Besides, ’ he reflected ; ‘ I only asked 
them to dine ; not to put up with me.’ 

‘ ‘ In due time two ambulances from Fort Burns bowled 
into the garrison. Mrs. Trolls, Mrs. Hinton and four 
young ladies had accepted the kind invitation of Mr. 
Tavistock; so had—unasked—Captain Trolls and Mr. 
Newburg. But these, as well as the entire party, were 
assured by the officer-of-the-day that he was ‘ chawmed 
no end ’ to see them. Then they were spirited away by 
different inmates of the garrison, better situated to dis¬ 
pose of them, temporarily, than the would-be swell host. 

“Tavistock had announced the dinner-hour as six 
o’clock ; and as the appointed time drew near, much spec¬ 
ulation was indulged in, especially by the inmates of the 
garrison, respecting Tavistock’s plans. The fact that he 


THE QUARTERMASTER’S STORY. 


75 


had really provided anything never, for one moment, en¬ 
tered their minds. 

“ At the proper time the company assembled at Mr. 
Tavistock’s quarters, where he warmly received them. 
He was arrayed as immaculately as permissible with the 
office he had that day filled His quarters had been 
tidied up a little by McGoon, his striker; that was all. 
There was an absence of bric-a-brac, bijouterie , and in 
fact of all ornamentation and decoration, which must 
have struck the visitors as peculiar, when recalling the 
previous description they had received. But naturally, 
only such remarks as : ‘ Why, how nicely you are fixed ! ’ 

‘ How pleasantly you are situated ! ’ and other similar 
flatteries were indulged in. 

“ Some little time ensued, and the garrison guests pres¬ 
ent were showing symptoms of impatience, when a neigh¬ 
boring door was thrust open and McGoon, in swallow-tail 
coat and white apron, in stentorian tones shouted: ‘ Cum 
a runnin’ ! ’ 

“ It must be admitted that the words fell like a blow 
on the ear of the elegant and refined host; but the mirth 
occasioned by the plebeian announcement soon banished 
all embarrassment, and, giving his arm to Mrs. Trolls, 
he passed into the adjoining room, followed by the rest of 
the company. 

“ Great, indeed, was the surprise of every one. There 
stretched a long table, neatly covered with spotless linen, 
whose purity and fineness was at once remarked upon. 
The silver knives and forks shone brightly beneath the 
many lights, and there was nothing to indicate that they 
were borrowed or plated. The china was a trifle superior 
—as were also the glasses—to the average Arizona table- 
furniture ; and the centre-piece, towering from its mes- 
quite embankment, was abundantly and tastefully filled 




76 


THE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


with fruit from the commissary. The whole scene was 
really quite attractive and alluring. 

‘ ‘ After a brief survey of his surroundings, Lieutenant 
De Canter, who was one of the guests, so far recovered 
from his amazement as to mentally articulate : ‘I’ll be 
d-! ’ But hope had not quite deserted him ; he re¬ 

membered the promised turkey, and well knowing that 
one had never been seen in or around Davenport, felt, in a 
measure, assured. Others of the garrison present were 
also greatly astonished ; but the visitors accepted it all as 
a matter of course. 

‘ ‘ McGoon and Flynn—a brother trooper, who was act¬ 
ing assistant—brought in the soup, which was pronounced 
faultless. Then Flynn approached the host and asked : 

‘ Will the loot’unt have the lemmin edd now ? * 

‘ ‘ ‘ Hr—ah, yes ; you howling idiot; ’ muttered poor 
Tavistock ; and a moment later, while the company w^ere 
convulsed with laughter, the well-disguised troopers were 
filling the glasses with ‘ lemmin edd,’ flowing from bottles 
whose labels were a guarantee of the excellence of their 
contents. 

‘ ‘ All were cheerful; everything was passing off delight¬ 
fully, and—yes, here comes McGoon with the promised 
turkey, which he deftly places before the composed host. 

“ ‘ Oh, how lovely ! ’ ‘ How awfully nice in you! ’ and 
other similar expressions from the visitors greeted Tavis¬ 
tock, as he recklessly replied : 

“ ‘ Told you I’d knock you one over, you know ; they’re 
as thick as cweam awound here.’ 

“Then came the vegetables—canned to be sure; but 
who would suspect it, when prepared by a troop chef and 
served in McGoon’s recherche style. 

“ And here comes the ‘rum-pudding,’ as Flynn called 
it, ‘ blazing fer al the woorled loike a bloomin’ shell ! ’ 


THE QUARTERMASTER’S STORY. 


77 


“ So far Tavistock had no reason to feel ashamed of his 
spread. It is doubtful if another in the garrison could 
have done better. Many and sincere were the congratu¬ 
lations he received, and one fair guest remarked to him 
she wished the officers at Bums were half so nice and 
thoughtful. 

‘ ‘ In addition to the astonishment which De Canter ex¬ 
perienced, he felt decidedly cheap ; his supreme joke had 
proved no joke at all. He did not enjoy his dinner be¬ 
cause his skin did not fit him, as he afterwards expressed 
it. He felt ill at ease, and, fancying a soup^on of cognac 
might benefit him, strolled back to the dining-room to 
help himself; but McGoon—and McGoon in tears—an¬ 
ticipated his wish. 

“‘Why, what’s the matter, McGoon?’ he asked, as 
he tossed off the brandy. ‘ Has anything gone wrong 
with you ? ’ 

“ ‘ There’s not a dhry oieye in the throope, loot’unt; ’ 
sobbed the old soldier. 

“‘What do you mean?’ asked the thoroughly per¬ 
plexed subaltern. 

“ ‘ The pet’s kilt! murdurhed ! ’ was the reply. 

“ ‘ What pet are you talking about ? ’ inquired De Canter. 

“ ‘ “ F” throope’s ’agle to be sure, that we brought al 
the way frum de Platte ! He wus a foine bird, loot’unt, 
so he was! He’d licked “C’’ throope’s goat, an’ he 
picked de oieye outen “ G ” cumpany’s tarrier ! An’ now 
he’s murdurhed ! ’ 

“‘Is poor old “Grant’’ dead?’ asked DeCanter; 
showing sympathy for the old veteran, who had worn 
chevrons before he joined : ‘ What killed him ? ’ 

“ ‘ That bloomin’ doughboy Toot’unt Thavisstock paid 
to massacree ’im wid de sthable broom, to be sure. Bad 
luck to ’im ! * 


78 


THE COEONEb’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


‘ ‘ ‘ Why did lieutenant Tavistock want “ F ’ 1 com¬ 
pany’s eagle killed? ’ asked the innocent and unsuspect¬ 
ing officer. 

“ ‘ To stuff de commissary baskits of them women from 
Fort Burns ! poor old “ Grant ” ! He masqueraded, sor, 
as a wild turkey an’ they et ’im, they did ! jist as pay 
day’s cuming an’ we was a goin’ to pit ’im wid “K” 
throopes crower. Boo-hoo ! But it was sport, loot’unt, 
to see the boys shling belting the doughboy outen the 
post! Be Gob, sor, he yelled loike a thayvin’ Arrah- 
payho!’ 

“So Tavistock’s outrageous deception was laid bare, 
to De Canter at the least! The old eagle which had 
been given by the 22d Cavalry in exchange for a lame 
monkey, and for some time had been recognized as the 
Sullivan pet of the regiment, had been placed before his 
guests, who had devoured him, fancying they ate wild 
turkey shot by their skillful and polite host! Yes ; and 
De Canter recollected that he also had eaten of the Na¬ 
tional bird ! ‘ Ugh ! ’ he remembered now of having de¬ 

tected a peculiar flavor; but had said nothing lest he 
might betray his ignorance respecting swell cooking! 
And while McGoon drained in silence the unfinished 
glasses, the disgusted officer strolled away to reflect in 
Solitude. But he was met by lieutenant Curry, who gave 
him information which caused him still greater surprise. 

‘ ‘ Curry told him that in an hour or so—after the guests 
had thoroughly digested their dinner, it was the intention 
of Tavistock—who fancied they were in the scheme with 
De Canter—to make a little speech. He would open by 
thanking them for coming ; he then would apologize for 
the deficiency in the dinner by stating that he had re¬ 
ceived no knowledge respecting their coming until he 
beheld them in the garrison ; that then it was too late to 


THE QUARTERMASTER’S STORY. 


79 


capture the promised turkey, so he did the next best 
thing by appropriating a National bird, which, though 
an old pet in his troop, he regarded as a fit subject to dis¬ 
sect on a National holiday, etc., etc. 

“ Tavistock was certainly in a position to crow ! 

‘ ‘ ‘ The infernal scoundrel ! ’ exclaimed De Canter, 
realizing the extent of his host’s depravity, and fully 
conscious that a portion of old ‘ Grant ’ was sticking to 
his ribs ; ‘ why, it will be a disgrace to the regiment, if 
not to the corps ! ’ Then turning to Curry, he said : ‘ I 
can’t thank you enough, old man, for having told me 
this ; I’ll balk the beggar yet! ’ 

“And together they went to Tavistock’s quarters, 
where the visitors and others were pleasantly conversing. 
A few moments later De Canter—who had never addressed 
an assemblage since the time he stood upon the platform 
and told his schoolmates the thrilling story of the heroic 
boy and the burning deck—arose and said : 

“ ‘Ladies and Gentlemen: I am conscious that it is 
bad form to trumpet one’s own deeds; but I feel it my 
duty to inform you of a dastardly plot, of which you were 
to be the victims; which was frustrated by my interfer¬ 
ence ! ’ 

“(The company express gratitude and surprise, and 
Tavistock pales.) 

“ ‘ It appears that Mr. Tavistock regarded your pres¬ 
ence here to-day as part of a scheme to embarrass him. 
It is only proper for me to add that when he invited you 
to dine he had no hope of your coming. But he event¬ 
ually learned you would be here, and satisfied that it was 
a trick to annoy him, and realizing his inability to pro¬ 
vide the promised dish, he sought to turn the tables upon 
you ! 

“ ‘ Through the instrumentality of a wretch, who I am 


80 the colonel’s Christmas dinner. 

thankful to say is no longer in the garrison, he had the 
old pet eagle of “ F ’ ’ troop killed and placed before you 
to pose as his wild turkey ! ’ (Cries of ‘ The monster ! ’ 
‘ The beast! ’ and various sounds which show the paucity 
of orthography.) 

“ ‘ Yes, ladies and gentlemen, and it is his belief at this 
moment that the bully of “ F ’ ’ troop has been devoured 
by you! But when I learned of his purpose, I quietly 
sent the turkey which was to grace my own modest board 
over to Mr. Tavistock’s cook with instructions to prepare 
it properly for you, and to decently inter the dead cham¬ 
pion of “ F ” troop. From this you will perceive that it 
was my precaution alone that rescued you from a fate too 
hideous to contemplate.’ 

4 ‘ It seems needless to add that De Canter stock in¬ 
stantly rose in proportion to the decline in Tavistock ; 
and though the lie told by the former was far too dark to 
be classed with the ‘ white ’ ones, it completely foiled the 
latter, and prevented sudden and serious illness among 
the visitors. ’ ’ 

“ It is time we heard from one of our guests,” said the 
Colonel; “local talent isn’t exhausted, but these fellows, 
like the poor, we have ever with us. Come, Major 
Loomis. You told the best story I ever heard, one night 
when we were camped at Warrenton, in ’63 — ” 

“Yes, yes, Major Loomis,” impatiently called a dozen 
voices. 

“But my yams are all blood-curdlers,” said Loomis, 
gravely. The story Colonel Grace refers to was of the 
supernatural nature, and I had happened to be so placed 
as to have to hear *a good deal of that sort of thing some 
years ago. 

I dote on ghost stories—and Mr. X. was such a sell,” 
pleaded the lady with those effective eyes. 


THE MAJOR’S STORY. 


81 


“Tell us one. Tell us anything, Major,” came from 
the table generally. 

“ Well,” said he, “ it needs a yarn like one of mine to 
bring things to a rational temperature after hours of such 
delight and festivity. List—list—oh, list— 


THE MAJOR'S STORY. 

“ The more we are brought in contact with the known 
forces of Nature the more we become impressed with the 
fact that there are subtle influences exerted by them on 
the human system. Many occurrences which, in this cen¬ 
tury, we know are the result of contact with these known 
forces were, in the last century, accorded to ideas gen¬ 
erated by superstition. While, therefore, enlightenment 
throws a mantle over superstition, education seems to 
have lifted the veil of spiritual matters to such an extent 
that we no longer attribute to legerdemain the Mesmeric 
power; but are compelled to admit that there are those 
who possess in a high degree the power to enslave the 
human mind, and bend its every action to the vagaries of 
that power. 

“That there are persons who possess the gift of what 
is known as ‘second sight,’ we do not for one instant 
doubt; but what force is exerted upon the mind to pro¬ 
duce these glances into unknown mysteries has never 
yet been discovered. We can only accept facts as they 
appear. 

“Captain Charlie Calverton, formerly of the —th In¬ 
fantry, was a warm personal friend of mine, and a bach* 
elor, somewhere in the neighborhood of fifty years of age 
at the time of which I speak. I was visiting him a few 
years before his death, at Fort Blanco. While at the post 
4 * 


82 


THE COEONEE’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


a large dancing party was given, and, of course I, with 
my host, attended. During one of the dances I was 
seated near two ladies with whom I, at intervals, con¬ 
versed. At a lull in the music one of them turned to me 
and observed— 

“ ‘ Major, I believe you are one of Captain Calverton’s 
oldest friends ? ’ 

‘ ‘ I admitted the fact, and paid some complimentary 
tribute to his loyalty. 

“ ‘ Well,’ said the lady, ‘ we have often wondered why 
he has always remained a bachelor. He seems so defer¬ 
ential to women, and apparently is pleased with their 
society; he loves music, yet I have never known him to 
dance; and he has a singular fondness for all kinds of 
flowers—that is, if I except heliotrope? Perhaps you 
can solve the riddle for us ? ’ 

‘ ‘ ‘ Why do you say that he loves flowers of all kinds 
except heliotrope ? * I queried. 

‘ ‘ ‘ Because he cultivates them whenever he has the 
opportunity; but amid the endless variety that I have 
known him to have I have never seen the flower men¬ 
tioned ; and to convince me that I was right in my sur¬ 
mise, I have seen him turn pale at the sight of it. On 
one occasion he was offered a boutonniere of heliotrope by 
a lady, and his rejection of it was really rude. You may 
depend upon it he was never tendered another flower by 
that lady.’ 

‘ ‘ I drew my own conclusions as to who the lady was 
that had been referred to, and therefore, to soften her 
feelings a little, I told her that the captain had some very 
painful recollections concerning a sprig of heliotrope. 

‘ ‘ ‘ Oh ! then he has a history ? ’ she exclaimed. ‘ Do 
tell us what it is ; I’m dying to know.’ 

“ She didn’t look very much like expiring suddenly, so 


THE MAJOR’S STORY. 


83 


I excused myself on the ground that the Captain’s history 
was his own, and that I did not feel justified in saying 
more than I had said. But that night, after the Captain 
and I had gone to his quarters, and we were quietly en¬ 
joying our cigars, I alluded to the conversation, when he 
approved of what I had done, and at the same time re¬ 
quested me never to allude to his past life in the presence 
of others while he was alive. A telegram hurried me 
away the next day, and so I was saved the trouble of re¬ 
fusing the ladies a second time. But the Captain is dead 
now—gone to investigate mysteries over which we con¬ 
versed for many an hour. His spirit is often with me. I’m 
not a spiritualist, either by faith or practice, nor can I ac¬ 
count for the mysterious influence which causes me to 
feel a spiritual presence; but so impressed have I been 
with that belief that I have reviewed his whole life, and I 
have, for the first time, resolved to relate his singular his¬ 
tory, showing a fatality about matters over which he 
could exercise no influence. 

‘ ‘ There is a period in the life of all children when they 
begin to doubt the actual existence of the mythical per¬ 
sonage known as ‘ Santa Claus. ’ Forty-five years ago 
this mysterious giver of all good things was a veritable 
individual in the minds of children for a longer period 
than at the present time. Hence it was that Master 
Charlie Calverton, who had arrived at the sublime age of 
eight years, had been kept in ignorance as to the identity 
of the generous patron of Christmas day. This may have 
been caused by several circumstances, for the largest 
towns he had, up to this time, seen, were those of the 
straggling village of Washington City, containing about 
40,000 inhabitants, and the shipping port of Alexandria, 
Va. ; and this experience had been confined to a single 
visit of a few days to each of those places, for his home 


84 


THE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


was in one of the lower counties of Maryland, bordering 
on the Potomac River. The facilities for communicating 
with the outer world were very meagre in character at 
the time referred to. 

“ But at this particular period of young Calverton’s life 
he began to have his doubts about Santa Claus, and had 
learned from a primary geography, in which he was being 
instructed, that the earth was supposed to be 25,000 miles 
in circumference. He therefore asked his father one day 
if there was only one Santa Claus, to which he received a 
reply in the affirmative. His next question was : ‘ Then 
how can he travel so many miles in one night, and visit 
so many houses ? ’ 

* ‘ This was somewhat of a poser for his father, who did 
not wish to destroy the pleasing fancy of childhood. So 
Charlie was told that Santa Claus had reindeer as swift as 
the wind. He had never seen a reindeer, and therefore, 
trusting to his father’s superior knowledge, he made no 
more inquiries. But as Christmas drew near in this, to 
him, ever memorable year of 1845, from little remarks 
that he had overheard among his elders, his doubts re¬ 
turned in full force, and he determined that he would see 
Santa Claus with his own eyes, even if he had to lie awake 
all night. 

“In order to have a clear understanding of events 
which took place, it will be necessary to give a descrip¬ 
tion of the home where Master Calverton first saw the 
light of day, and where he was living at this particular 
time. The mansion was quite unimposing in character, 
although somewhat imposing in dimensions. It was a 
kind of rambling frame structure, the central portion of 
which, like many other Southern houses, was two stories 
in height, with portico and large white pillars in front, 
while the remainder had been built at different periods, 


THE MAJOR’S STORY. 


85 


as its succession of occupants had seen proper to erect ad¬ 
ditional rooms, without symmetry, and with no view to 
architectural beauty. It was a sharp-roofed building, 
just affording space enough for several sleeping apart¬ 
ments above, while as many chambers below were allot¬ 
ted for the same purpose. It was in the midst of a square 
lawn, of rather large dimensions, around which towered 
great Lombardy poplars, while extensive beds of beautiful 
flowers of all descriptions cheered the eye with their varie¬ 
gated hues. Some fifty paces from the front row of pop¬ 
lars ran the shallow waters of Silver Creek. 

“ An immense hall ran through the centre of the house, 
on the left of which, as you entered, were three rooms, 
the front being used as a family sitting-room, while that 
immediately in rear of it was the bed-room of Mr. and 
Mrs. Calverton. The third was built as an addition on 
the side, and communicated only with the sitting-room. 
This latter was occupied as a chamber for Mr. Calverton’s 
two children, Charlie and Joe. 

“Christmas eve came. The boys’ stockings, as well 
as those of the parents and the domestics of the house, 
were, as was customary, fastened to the sitting-room 
mantel, and the entire family had retired to rest. From 
the position where Charlie lay, tucked up in the bed¬ 
clothes, could be seen the row of stockings, and while 
awaiting the advent of Santa Claus he counted them over 
and over again, until it seemed to him there were hun¬ 
dreds of them. 

“ He had watched the flickering flames make their last 
leap into the wide-mouthed old chimney—had seen the 
glowing embers in the fire-place die out one by one, and 
was thinking he had imposed upon himself a useless task, 
when, suddenly, the room became illuminated as if by a 
thousand candles, and as his eyes expanded with aston- 


86 


THE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


ishment, a human female form rose up as if from beside 
his bed, and rushed through the open doorway into the 
sitting-room. Charlie had always been considered a 
brave little fellow, and though terribly frighened, jumped 
from his bed, thinking that if Santa Claus came in that 
manner a wonderful discovery would be made, and he 
would have the pleasure of relating how he had caught 
the old fellow in the act. He therefore followed the glar¬ 
ing figure into the room. As he neared the centre he 
gave one shriek and fell senseless to the floor. 

‘ ‘ His piteous cry awakened both father and mother, 
who hastily sprang from their bed, and while the father 
was engaged in lighting a lamp, the mother hurried 
through the dark to the bedside of her children. Finding 
that Charlie was missing and that Joe was asleep, she 
returned to the sitting-room just as Mr. Calverton brought 
the lamp, and there they discovered their senseless boy. 

* ‘ ‘ What could it mean ? ’ ‘ What was he doing there ? 1 
These were the questions that father and mother natu¬ 
rally asked each other as they raised their little boy from 
the floor, and endeavored to resuscitate him. But no 
reply came from those childish lips. Charlie lay in a 
death-like swoon, and the pulsations of his heart could 
scarcely be distinguished. A man-servant was called and 
dispatched for the doctor, who lived only two miles away. 
In the meanwhile the mother exhausted all her ingenuity 
in her applications for restoration. In the course of three- 
quarte.s of an hour the doctor arrived, and after having 
been informed of what had occurred, he commenced his 
treatment of the case, succeeding so far that in a short 
while they had the satisfaction of seeing Charlie open his 
eyes ; but upon discovering again a bright light in the 
room, shuddered as with an ague and quickly closed 
them, apparently relapsing into his swoon. 


TIIE major’s story. 


87 


“ ‘ What is it, my son ? ’ asked Mrs. Calverton. ‘ Mam¬ 
ma is near you—nothing can harm you. Tell me, my 
boy, what is the matter ? ’ 

“After repeating these words several times, while 
bending over his prostrate form, Charlie again opened 
his eyes, and throwing his arms about his mother’s neck, 
exclaimed, ‘Oh, mother.’ 

“This was all he could say, and the doctor advised 
that they leave all questioning alone until morning. So 
the little fellow lay with his arms about his mother’s 
neck until sleep overcame him, when he was again placed 
in his bed, while the mother watched beside him during 
the night. At intervals his little face would warp as 
with pain and his body tremble from head to foot. 

‘ ‘ When he finally awoke, some time after daylight, and 
was questioned by his mother, he said : ‘ I was watching 
for Santa Claus and thought I had found him, when I 
discovered it was a lady all on fire, and she uttered such 
awful cries, and was burning up so, that it scared me 
nearly to death.’ 

“ Mrs. Calverton tried to convince her son that he had 
been dreaming—that no one had been on fire and that 
there was no lady in the house but herself, so that he 
must be mistaken. But Charlie insisted on it that he was 
wide awake and saw everything. No one could conjec¬ 
ture what it all meant. The father argued that the boy 
had been troubled with a bad dream ; the mother was not 
so well satisfied, as she had never known him to walk in 
his sleep ; while the old negro cook said : ‘ Dere’s gwine 
ter be sumpin’ tur’ble happen—Mars’ Charlie’s done got 
secon’ sight.’ There was one thing certain—Charlie 
never watched for Santa Claus a second time, nor could 
he ever be prevailed upon to sleep in the same chamber. 

“ The sunny days of childhood passed only too quickly, 


88 


THE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


and when Charlie arrived at the age of fourteen years 
both boys were sent off to school at Baltimore. At the 
end of three years Charlie was appointed a cadet at the 
West Point Military Academy, while Joe continued at 
school for two years longer, and finally entered college. 

‘ ‘ Charlie graduated in due time, and after spending 
his three months’ furlough at home was assigned to a 
regiment then doing duty on the Indian frontier. But 
the winter he spent there was harassing in the extreme, 
on account of the secession movement, and he was actu¬ 
ally glad when war was declared, and he was ordered 
with his regiment to the Hast. This gave him the oppor¬ 
tunity of paying a visit to his home, although he ran the 
risk of being captured by the enemy, who occupied the 
lower Potomac at this time. Mr. Calverton had strong 
Southern proclivities, but his wife was equally strong in 
her support of the Union, and thus matters at home were 
kept upon a neutral basis. The result, however, was that 
Joe adopted the father’s side of the question, and has¬ 
tened to join the rebel army; while Charlie, although 
urged by his father to either go South or stay at home, 
never for an instant flagged in what he considered his 
duty to his country. Thus it was that the brothers were 
arrayed one against the other, while the mother’s heart 
was torn with anguish at the thought. With bitter up- 
bra : dings from his father, and with blessings from his 
mother, Charlie left home to take his place in the Army 
of the Potomac, and to participate in the greatest strug¬ 
gle that any nation has ever been called upon to endure. 

‘ ‘ During the Antietam campaign he received news of 
the death of his father, but it was not until the armies 
were confronting each other before Fredericksburg that 
he could get away, and then only for a few days, he sim¬ 
ply having to cross the Potomac River. His mother 


THE MAJOR’S STORY. 


89 


begged him to resign and stay at home; but he argued 
that it would be cowardly to do so during hostilities, and 
a battle in prospect. He assured her, however, that as 
soon as the war was over he would tender his resignation 
and devote his life to her. 

‘ ‘ The day before he left for his station he came into 
the breakfast-room looking pale and haggard, seeing 
which, his mother inquired if he was ill, or if he had 
passed a restless night. 

“ ‘ I am not ill, mother, ’ he replied, ‘ but I have passed 
a restless night—all in consequence of some peculiar sen¬ 
sations that I had before going to bed. When I retired 
to my chamber last night, I sat by the window smoking 
a cigar and watching a few filmy clouds that were passing 
rapidly over the moon’s face. Suddenly my mind became 
fixed, as it were, and there opened before my vision a 
beautiful stretch of country that I had never seen before 
—a lovely valley between two prominent ridges. All 
about me were fields of grain, green meadows and ripening 
orchards. I found myself standing with an army on one 
of these ridges. Presently a great roar of artillery reached 
my ears, the clash of arms resounded, and amidst the din 
we moved forward down the slope and across the beauti¬ 
ful valley. Then a great cloud seemed to envelop every¬ 
thing. But, in a little while, a rift occurred, and while I 
was watching it I saw father, as plain as I ever saw him 
in life, stretch forth his hands, and in another moment I 
saw brother Joe running to meet him with outstretched 
arms. In an instant he was drawn to father’s breast; 
and while they stood with arms locked about each other 
the rift in the cloud closed and obscured them from view. 
I called to them several times, and then the cloud broke 
again ; but this time father and Joe were moving forward, 
arm-in-arm, with eager expectation on their faces. I 


90 


THE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


called again, but they paid no attention to me. Suddenly, 
out of the cloud on the other side of the rift, you appeared, 
with a most radiant smile on your face, and rushed into 
father’s arms. Then all became black. With the per¬ 
spiration standing in great beads on my forehead, I re¬ 
covered from the mysterious spell with which I had 
become transfixed, and saw that the clouds had gathered 
in masses, and that the moon was peeping through a rift 
in them. I tried to convince myself that it was a dream, 
but it was of no use, and so I lay awake nearly all night.’ 

“ ‘ It was but a dream, however,’ said Mrs. Calverton, 

‘ caused by your watching the clouds. Of course it can 
mean nothing, my boy. Do you remember what a dream 
you had about Santa Claus when you were a child? 
Nothing ever came of that.’ 

“ ‘ That is true,’ Charlie replied ; ‘and I trust nothing 
will ever come of this, but I cannot rid myself of the in¬ 
fluence. ’ 

jjc ^ ^ 

“ It was the 2d day of July, 1863. Night had thrown 
her mantle around the bullet-scarred face of the ‘ Round- 
Top,’ and over the shell-plowed furrows of the ‘ Peach- 
Orchard,’ through which the serried columns of both 
Union and Confederate armies had successively charged 
that day, leaving the blue and the gray intermingled on 
the battle-field. 

“ The last boom of the brazen gun had died away upon 
the summer air ; the last sharp crack of the rifle had been 
heard, and the hostile armies that had confronted each 
other on that fatal field of carnage—Gettysburg—were 
lying peacefully sleeping, many of their members never 
to awaken until the reveille of the resurrection arouses 
them from their slumbers. The w T ounded lay there, look¬ 
ing up at the bright stars of heaven ; some wishing that 


THE MAJOR’S STORY. 


91 


death would end their miseries, and others fondly think¬ 
ing of their homes, wondering if they would ever see their 
loved ones again. Mysterious-looking objects in human 
shape were darting here and there through the Peach- 
Orchard, flashing every now and then the light of lan¬ 
terns on the prostrate forms lying there in the starlight. 
These were the surgeons and their attendants of the Union 
army seeking out their wounded and having them re¬ 
moved from the field. One of these flashes fell full upon 
the face of a fine-looking fellow dressed in Confederate 
gray, and one of the attendants remarked: ‘Well, he’s 
a handsome corpse. ’ The words were no sooner uttered 
than the individual referred to opened his eyes and asked 
for a drink of water. Certainly they would give it to 
him, for no animosities exist between brave men when 
they are placed hors de combat. One of the attendants 
stooped down and raised the poor fellow’s head while 
another applied the canteen to his lips. After taking a 
long draught, the wounded man said, as his head was 
again placed upon the sod : ‘ Thank you ; I can die com¬ 
fortably now.’ 

‘ ‘ ‘ Are you so badly wounded ? ’ asked the doctor. 

“ ‘ Mortally,’ he replied. 

“ ‘ It may not be as you think,’ said the doctor, pro¬ 
ceeding to examine the wound. But in a few moments 
he shook his head and said : ‘ I’m afraid it is all up with 
you, my boy. You can’t live an hour. It would be 
causing you useless pain to move you. Is there anything 
you would like me to do for you—any message you would 
like to send to your people ? ’ 

“‘Yes, doctor, thank you; I have a brother in the 
Union army, and if he can bury me so that my body 
might be recovered and taken home to Old Maryland— 
to the old place—I would like him to do that much as 


92 


THE COEONEE’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


the most he can do for me now. His name is Charlie Cal- 
verton, of the Regulars.’ 

‘ ‘ ‘ My God ! ’ came in solemn tones out of the dark¬ 
ness, a few yards away ; and as the doctor turned to as¬ 
certain from whence the sound proceeded, the voice con¬ 
tinued : 

“ ‘ Doctor, doctor ! come this way, please ; I am Char¬ 
lie Calverton ! ’ 

‘ ‘ It was but a few moments before the blue and the 
gray were lying side by side—Charlie with a leg fractured 
above the knee, and his brother Joe with a mortal wound 
through the abdomen. Charlie slipped his arm under 
Joe’s head and drew it to his bosom, and there, while the 
summer breeze whispered a requiem, the two brothers, 
who, but a few hours before, had been arrayed against 
each other in mortal combat, breathed a last loving fare¬ 
well on earth. 

“ Having placed the brothers together, the doctor left 
them alone, promising to come back. He then proceeded 
with his attendants on his dreary rounds. When he re¬ 
turned Joe’s spirit had taken its flight. He could not 
bear to separate them, and therefore the dead and the 
wounded were taken together from the field to the rear of 
the Union army, where the final separation had to take 
place—Charlie being placed in the hospital and Joe buried 
in a spot that was marked by the doctor. 

‘ ‘ The news that reached the old Maryland home from 
that dreary field, through the press, shriveled the mother’s 
heart with a mighty sorrow, and prostrated her on a bed 
of sickness, during which time she wrote to an old friend 
in Baltimore—a Mrs. Meredith—to come to her in this 
her hour of extreme trial. Mrs. Meredith promptly 
obeyed the summons of her friend, and took her daugh¬ 
ter, Nellie, along. The latter had just returned from com- 


THE MAJOR’S STORY. 


93 


pleting her education at Boston, and was glad of the 
oppoitunity thus offered for a little country life. 

“After the armies had disappeared from the field of 
Gettysburg, Charlie Calverton was removed to a hospital 
in Baltimore, and subsequently transferred to the hospital 
for officers, at Annapolis, from which place he wrote to 
his mother, giving her an account of the sad affair at 
Gettysburg, and informing her that as soon as he was 
able to get about he would obtain a leave of absence and 
visit home. Upon leaving Gettysburg he gave an accu¬ 
rate description of Joe’s grave to an undertaker, and 
directed the body to be embalmed and expressed to his 
mother’s house, where it arrived in due season, and was 
interred in the family lot. 

“ One bright, balmy day in the early part of September 
round Charlie on crutches at the door of the paternal man¬ 
sion ; but instead of his mother to greet him, there was a 
strange lady. Beside her was a picture of youthful loveli¬ 
ness, such as Charlie thought he had never seen before. 
She was dressed in a costume of simple white, with masses 
of dark-brown hair forming a coronet to the beautiful face. 
Lieutenant Charlie Calverton, U. S. A., was from this 
moment a captured individual. He was warmly wel¬ 
comed both by Mrs. Meredith and her daughter, and at 
once conducted to his mother, who was still an invalid 
and confined to her room. 

‘ ‘ After mutual embraces, and many inquiries regard¬ 
ing the death of Joe, Mrs. Calverton observed—‘ Now 
that I have you again, Charlie, you must never leave me; 
you must resign, and come home to live. I will not be 
long on this earth.’ 

“ ‘ Dearest mother,’ said Charlie, ‘ I will stay with you 
as long as I can possibly do so ; but it is doubtful if my 
resignation would be accepted at the present time. The 


94 


THE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


Government is straining every nerve to secure men. See 
what New York City has had to undergo during the past 
month on account of the riots produced by the draft. As 
soon as the war is over I will return home and remain 
with you all my life.’ 

“ ‘Ah, my dear son,’ she languidly replied, ‘it will all 
be over with me before the end of the war, and I feel the 
necessity here of your strong assistance. * 

“ ‘ But, mother,’ he added, ‘you are feeling weak and 
sick now—you will be better after awhile, and then we 
will think about what you desire. Until then say no 
more about the matter; I am here, now, and here I will 
have to remain until I can get about on my pins again.’ 

“‘Very well, my dear,’ she replied, ‘I agree to your 
proposition. Now give me another kiss, and go to your 
room and make yourself presentable, for there is a very 
lovely girl here whom it will be pleasant for you to 
meet. ’ 

“ ‘ I have met her already, mother, and, do you know, 
I have fallen desperately in love ? ’ 

“‘Indeed!’ exclaimed Mrs. Calverton, elevating her 
eyebrows; and then, as her son passed out of the room, 
she said to herself, ‘ I trust it may be mutual; ’ for, after 
having seen Nellie gliding about the house like a fairy 
for the past two months, and heard her joyous ripples of 
laughter, she could not but think that the charming girl 
would make her son an excellent wife. 

“When the family met at dinner that day Nellie Mere¬ 
dith was more charming than ever, and in her beautiful 
costume of white lace was, to Charlie Calverton’s eyes, 
perfection itself. As they arose from the dinner-table a 
white rosebud dropped from the flowers fastened on Nel¬ 
lie’s bosom, and Charlie quickly picked it up, saying, as 
he did so, ‘ May I keep it ? ’ 


THE MAJOR’S STORY. 


95 


“ ‘No,’ she replied, adding, ‘it is not worth keeping.’ 
Then taking a sprig of heliotrope from the other flowers 
at her bosom, she presented it to him, saying, ‘ This is 
my favorite flower.’ 

“Mrs. Meredith remained with Mrs. Calverton for 
several weeks after Charlie’s arrival, but, as she saw that 
her friend was steadily improving, she finally took her 
departure with Nellie—Charlie having, in the meanwhile, 
availed himself of every opportunity to enjoy the beauti¬ 
ful girl’s society. In fact, he had become deeply in love 
with her, but had advanced no further in making known 
that fact to her than obtaining permission to call her 
Nellie. 

“ Thus matters stood in the month of April of the fol¬ 
lowing year, when Charlie felt that it was time for him to 
report for duty with his regiment, his mother having ap¬ 
parently recovered her health, and his fractured limb no 
longer giving him trouble. After much opposition on 
the part of his mother, he proceeded to Baltimore, deter¬ 
mined to see Nellie Meredith before he took the field; 
but at the same time resolved not to make known his love 
until he could ask her hand in marriage. He therefore 
stopped at a hotel for a few days, although the Merediths 
urged him to remain with them, and paid daily visits to 
Nellie. It was the night before his intended departure 
from the city, and having bade the family good-bye, Nel¬ 
lie accompanied him to the front door. 

“ She stood in the doorway like a framed picture, and 
in the bright moonlight which flooded the front of the 
house, her loveliness was plainly to be seen. The form, 
dainty and small, was set off by an evening dress of pink, 
of some gauzy material. A fine white Shetland shawl, 
which should have covered the shoulders and protected 
them from the dews which were beginning to fall, had 


96 


THE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


dropped away and exposed to view the exquisitely 
moulded form. Her face was upturned to the evening 
sky, in which Charlie discerned an air of wistfulness, al¬ 
most amounting to longing. The contour of it was deli¬ 
cate ; its beauty was of an order rare and peculiar. 
Targe, luminous and star-like were the dark eyes. The 
complexion was of a clear olive, with just a shade of col¬ 
oring, which gathered into the deep crimson of her sweet 
and tender lips. Great masses of dark brown hair were 
drawn back from the pure and perfect face, and arranged 
in coils around the head. 

‘ ‘ As Charlie stood beside her he feasted his eyes on 
her loveliness ; in a moment he held in his own the dear 
delicate hand. How tiny it looked, with the dainty ruf¬ 
fles of costly lace almost covering it ! His heart beat so 
quickly that for a moment he could not speak. The sub¬ 
tle, nameless influence of the scene and hour was upon 
him; he was longing to take the small form into his 
arms, to press fond, lingering kisses upon the sweet crim¬ 
son lips. After a minute’s silence she turned her great 
dark eyes, filled with a soft, shy light, to his face. 

‘ * The innocent, child-like face, with its exquisite 
beauty. How strongly, how deeply it moved him ! The 
wild love surging within him would no longer be put 
aside ; it cried out, demanding satisfaction. Ardent, pas¬ 
sionate words rose to his lips; it was with difficulty he 
controlled his emotions as to speak with a semblance of 
calmness. Holding her little hand tightly in both of his 
J own he said softly, ‘ Nellie, I love you.’ 

‘ ‘ By the faint pale light he could see how the fast¬ 
coming blushes dyed the delicate cheeks—how the white 
lids, with their long heavy fringes, suddenly drooped over 
the glorious dark eyes. 

“ ‘ I have loved you for a long time,’ he said, bending 


THE MAJOR’S STORY. 


97 


over the small form ; ‘ so dearly that I feared to trust my¬ 
self in your presence, lest by word or look I might betray 
my love.’ 

‘ ‘ Still the white lids drooped, and she shrank back a 
little, where, in the shadow of the doorway, he could not 
see her face so plainly. 

“ ‘ I dreaded lest I should betray my love, and so incur 
your displeasure,’ he continued. ‘I feared, too, that 
your mother might be annoyed if she learned that I had 
presumed to entrammel her daughter just as I was going 
to the field ; and so I resolved to quit your house to-night 
and try to conquer my love until such time as I could 
offer you a home. ’ 

‘ ‘ The little form shrank still farther back amidst the 
shadowy dimness of the hallway. Charlie followed. 

“ ‘ Nellie, it seems as though I had never known, until 
this evening, the meaning of the word happiness—as if I 
had never known before how fair was the earth. The 
flowers seem to have gained new beauty ; even the moon¬ 
light seems broader and brighter; and all because I love 
you.’ 

“ A great silence reigned around them—he was grow¬ 
ing desperate. 

“‘Nellie, my love, my darling, can I dare hope that 
you love me ? ’ 

“ But still she did not speak ; and hope, which beat so 
high in Charlie Calverton’s breast, now began to fade 
away. 

“ ‘ My darling,’ he pleaded, ‘I love you so dearly— 
give me some hope. ’ 

“ But not a word did she utter. Hope died out then. 
He released her hand with a heavy sigh and turned to go 
away. 

“ ‘ Forgive me,’ he said, ‘if I have pained you. Per- 

5 



98 


THE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


haps you may think I presume, even if my mother does 
not think so ? 5 

‘ ‘ He stood for a moment in the doorway. The moon¬ 
beams falling upon his face revealed its deathlike white¬ 
ness - its rigid, set expression of bitter pain. 

“ ‘Good-bye, Nellie, 5 he said; ‘I pray that you will 
forget that I ever presumed upon your kindness. 5 

“ He stepped out on the porch, never looking behind 
him. Wounded pride and love were making life seem a 
most undesirable gift to him just then. 

‘ ‘ Then there was a rustle of fabrics, a little faint cry of 
‘ Charlie, 5 and a tiny, trembling hand was laid upon his arm. 

“ Oh, the change that passed over his face—the joy 
that flashed into his gray eyes ! 

“ ‘ Nellie, my love, my darling, 55 he whispered, as his 
arm stole about her delicate waist, and he bent over her 
to catch the faintest whisper from her crimson lips. 

“ ‘ I love you, Charlie, 5 she murmured ; ‘ I have loved 
you ever since I first met you. 5 

“ He caught her in his arms and held her against his 
loyal heart—the dainty form he loved so well. He pressed 
fond, lingering kisses upon the warm lips that were now 
sealed to his own. 

“ ‘ My life, my love, my queen,’ he murmured ; ‘ how 
I love you—oh, how I love you ! 5 

“ They stood silently, then, she nestling to his side as 
though there she had found her home. She was not a 
grand, dignified woman, this Nellie Meredith; she was 
simply a clinging, sensitive, innocent girl, with a nature 
which gave affection and craved the same in return. She 
loved Charlie Calverton, and the knowledge that he loved 
her so filled her heart with supreme happiness that her 
lips refused to speak until despair seized her at the 
thought of his leaving her. 


THE MAJOR’S STORY. 


99 


“ ‘ It may be years yet before the war terminates, Nel¬ 
lie,’ he said; ‘ but at the end of that time may I claim 
you for my little wife ? ’ 

“ ‘ Yes, Charlie, I will wait for you,’ she replied, look¬ 
ing into his eyes and then kissing him fervently. ‘ There,’ 
she said, ‘ that’s the first kiss I ever gave to any man, and 
it is to seal my promise. ’ 

“ ‘ God bless and protect you, my own dear love,’ he 
said, as he bent over her and took a last lingering good¬ 
bye kiss. And then he left her with his heart full of 
gladness—nay, unbounded joy—the remembrance of 
which consoled him during many a hard march and fiery 
battle in those uncertain days of ’64, from the Wilderness 
to Petersburg. At the first opportunity he wrote to Mr. 
Meredith, telling him of his love for Nellie, and asking 
her hand in marriage as soon as the war was over. He 
received a very kind letter in reply, stating that if he and 
Nellie were of the same mind when that event took place, 
he himself would interpose no objection. 

“When the army had settled down for the complete 
investment of Petersburg and the chilly days of winter 
had come, Charlie Calverton was once more called upon 
to witness the verification of his singular presentiment, 
for Mrs. Calverton’s health rapidly declined on the ap¬ 
proach of winter, and Charlie had barely time to reach 
home after receiving the news of her illness, before she 
passed over to the other shore to meet her husband and 
Joe. 

‘ ‘ Charlie was now alone in the world—all the family 
gone. The old Maryland home was too full of sad asso¬ 
ciations, and therefore leaving it in charge of an overseer, 
he visited Baltimore and gave full authority to an agent 
to dispose of the property. It is needless to say that dur¬ 
ing the two days he was there he spent most of the time 



100 THE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 

with his charming fiancee , and then hurried back to his 
regiment, to participate in the campaign of 1865. 

^ ^ ^ 

‘ ‘ At last peace was announced, and one day in the 
month of May Charlie started for the purpose of making 
arrangements for his wedding-day ; but upon his arrival 
in Baltimore he found that the family had gone to Lower 
Maryland for the summer. Ascertaining their where¬ 
abouts, he followed quickly, and upon his arrival was 
astonished to find that they were living in his old home, 
which Mr. Meredith had purchased from the agent, and 
Nellie had purposely kept him in ignorance of the fact, 
thinking it would be a pleasant surprise. And, indeed, 
it was intended as such to Nellie herself, for Mr. Mere¬ 
dith had remodeled the house materially and furnished 
it in modern style, desiring to present it to her on her 
wedding-day. The first Tuesday in September was, 
therefore, fixed upon as the day for the happy event, after 
which they were all to return to Baltimore for the winter ; 
but when that time came, and Charlie applied for a leave 
of absence, the authorities declined to grant it, but in¬ 
formed him that he could renew his application after the 
winter began. It was then decided that the family should 
remain at the old homestead until after the Christmas 
holidays, and the wedding take place on Christmas day. 

“The holiday season came at last. The rooms former¬ 
ly occupied by Mr. and Mrs. Calverton and the boys had 
been decorated and furnished especially for the bride and 
groom, and Nellie was occupying the boys’ bed-chamber 
already. Charlie had been at the house for several days. 
Several friends of the family had arrived from Baltimore 
and were attending to their own affairs. It was Christ¬ 
mas eve. The trousseau had all been prepared, and the 
dressmaker, who had been summoned for the purpose 


THE MAJOR’S STORY. 


101 


from Baltimore, was to see that everything was en regie. 
Nellie concluded that while the others about the house 
were engaged in their preparations for the festivities she 
would try on the wedding-dress, under the supervision of 
her mother. 

‘ ‘ Accordingly she arrayed herself in her wedding ap¬ 
parel, and then sent for Charlie to come to the sitting- 
room and inspect it. Standing in the centre of the old 
room, he first admired his promised bride at some dis¬ 
tance, exclaiming, ‘ How beautiful you are ! ’ and then 
he gently drew her to his bosom and imprinted a loving 
kiss on her tender lips, saying, ‘ I love you ! I love you 
—oh, so dearly ! ’ 

‘ ‘ As he released her from his embrace she stepped to a 
table that was loaded with flowers, and selecting a sprig 
of heliotrope therefrom, said : 

“ ‘When we first met, Charlie, I gave you a sprig of 
my favorite flower; now I give you another, darling, 
with the full force of all that its emblem implies—my 
heart’s devotion.’ 

‘ ‘ He took the flower, kissed her again and again with a 
lover’s fervency, and then she retired to her room, while 
he proceeded to pin the sprig of heliotrope to the lappel 
of his coat. He had barely succeeded in doing this when 
a scream of anguish, that rang out upon the frosty air 
like the wail of some tortured victim, reached his ears, 
and before he could realize from whence the sound pro¬ 
ceeded, the bright happy being, who had left him scarcely 
five minutes before, rushed from her room enveloped in 
flames from head to foot. The maid had placed the lamp 
on the floor, the better to see how to unfasten her satin 
shoes, when, by some movement of hers, it was knocked 
over, the chimney broken, and the light, filmy drapery 
took fire. The girl lost her presence of mind and threw 


102 THE COEONEE’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


herself on the floor. Mrs. Meredith, who was sitting on 
the other side of the room, sprang from her chair to ren¬ 
der assistance; but Nellie rushed through the doorway 
to the sitting-room for Charlie. Regardless of himself, 
he grabbed at the fire until his hair and eyebrows were 
singed, and his hands and arms burned to blisters, while 
she, suffocated by the flames, fell dead in the centre of 
the room, the sickening flames lapping and hissing as 
they charred the beautiful skin into blackened parchment, 
at the sight of which Charlie Calverton fell on the floor 
insensible. 

‘ ‘ This is the reason why, twenty years afterwards, he 
died a bachelor. ’ ’ 

“We must have something to drive away the effect of 
that. Come ! I have it. Place aux Dames. And who 
can bring us back to sunshine better than she who 
drove me to it ?” quoth the Major, a moment later. 
“ Come, fair lady,—it is for you to speak,” and he bowed 
low to the blue eyes. In an instant the table echoed the 
appeal. Pleas, objections, resistance—all were in vain. 
At last the silvery tones of a woman’s voice were alone 
audible. All others were hushed. 


DACRE’S CHRISTMAS GIFT. 

I. The Gift. 

“ Miss Dolly Devereux, aged sixteen, was the most in¬ 
corrigible pupil in Madame La Pierre’s ‘ select school for 
young ladies.’ There were numerous others who, had it 
not been for the dark background of Dolly’s naughtiness, 
against which their minor delinquencies were thrown out 
white, by contrast, might indeed have been considered in¬ 
tractable ; but her matchless depravity completely sur- 


DACRE’S CHRISTMAS GIFT. 


103 


passed them all, and placed her on a pedestal quite alone. 
Who set pins in the kneeling-bench, upon the precise 
spot where the Reverend Dr. Dean’s knees must press, as 
he prostrated himself in prayer in the school chapel? 
Who basely stole and secreted Madame’s best wig the 
night she was invited to a grand dinner-party ? Who 
personated a ghost, at the witching midnight hour, and 
frightened Miss Meeks, the teacher of mathematics, into 
violent hysterics ? Dolly Devereux ; and these misde¬ 
meanors was Dolly guilty of committing within the lim¬ 
ited space of two weeks, so that Madame’s long-suffering 
spirit rose and boiled over to such an extent that Miss 
Devereux was (as she expressed it) ‘ rusticated,’ and sent 
home for penitence and reflection before the Christmas 
holidays began. Patience had ceased to be a virtue, in 
Madame’s opinion, and she had felt that it would be more 
than she could bear to tolerate the young vandal’s pres¬ 
ence a day longer than was absolutely necessary beneath 
her roof. This punishment was received with aggravat¬ 
ing cheerfulness by the delinquent, who had not dared 
hope to leave the establishment for any vacation, however 
well merited and earned. She had been placed under 
Madame’s care at the mature age of thirteen, or there¬ 
abouts, and there she had ever since remained, without 
once having gladdened the hearts and homes of her rela¬ 
tives and friends. Her mother, after a decorous period of 
widowhood, had wedded an army officer high in rank, 
when her only child was twelve years old ; and, after a 
brief period, rendered lurid by the light of that weird 
child’s presence in the newly-formed family-circle, a 
boarding-school in New York had been selected, and 
Dolly’s young idea had been invited to shoot in a novel 
and unexplored direction. 

“ Now her school career was summarily ended (for the 


104 THE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


present, at least), and she descended like a bomb-shell 
upon the hitherto comparatively peaceful household of 
her step-father, Colonel Everett Poppleton, at Fort Wash¬ 
ington, Nebraska. 

“ It was the 14th of December when she arrived, and 
by the 18th she rejoiced in the acquaintance of nearly 
everybody on the post, was intimate with several, had 
befriended the laundresses, and made pets of the soldier’s 
children. She did not believe in class prejudices in the 
army or out of it, she remarked nonchalantly to her step¬ 
father, having scandalized him by presenting a paper of 
peanuts to his immaculate and hitherto statuesque orderly 
beneath his very eyes. 

“Colonel, or General Poppleton, as he desired to be 
called, spent his days in a maze of horrified incredulity, 
excited by his step-daughter’s alarming escapades. Mrs. 
Poppleton speedily settled into a species of despairing 
resignation, while those outside, whom Dolly’s follies and 
frolics concerned not, smiled leniently upon her, criticised 
her good-naturedly, and admired and wondered over her 
from a distance at which they felt themselves safe. She 
was, be it understood, a remarkably prepossessing young 
person in the trifling matter of appearance, with particu¬ 
larly guileless blue eyes, short baby curls of a golden hue, 
and a smile that could beguile the heart of the veriest 
cynic. Therefore it was only those unfortunate enough 
to be tied to her by the bonds of kinship, and thus able 
to regard her charms from an entirely dispassionate point 
of view, who found it possible to set Dolly down, once for 
all, as a being totally obnoxious. Indeed, to General 
Poppleton’s alarm and astonishment, the new and unwel¬ 
come addition to his private family bade fair to prove an 
unexampled favorite with the members of his official 
family constituting the social life of the post. And in- 


DACRE’S CHRISTMAS GIFT. 


105 


variably perhaps it was a mere accident of fate) the 
young lady selected as her ‘ most cherished ’ those per¬ 
sons in the garrison—unhappily numerous—who had 
been so unfortunate as to come under the commanding 
officer’s ban. 

“ Lieutenant Oliver Renshaw, for instance, was on 
‘ official terms ’ only with his colonel; and of course his 
sister, Mrs. Lansing, was, so far as General Poppleton’s 
family was concerned, also socially ‘ tabooed.’ It was, 
therefore, to those who had made any attempt at studying 
Miss Devereux’s character, a matter for no surprise, but 
rather the contrary, that she should select the said Mrs. 
Lansing as first confidante and friend. Indeed, she went 
so far as to rave over the last candidate for her affections, 
in true school-girl fashion, at home as well as abroad. ‘ Such 
a beauty ! ’ she would cry, enthusiastically. ‘ The very 
prettiest woman I ever saw, and with such charming 
manners ! Only twenty-five, and yet a widow ; quite the 
most romantic thing I ever heard. I only wish / were 
twenty-five and a widow ; but I’m afraid there is no such 
luck in store for me ! ’ 

“ One afternoon she had entered Lieutenant Renshaw’s 
quarters without knocking, and had made herself very 
much at home by Constance Lansing’s side, while the latter 
busied herself with some fancy work which was to be her 
brother’s Christmas gift. Miss Devereux had sat in silence 
for a moment, having hopelessly entangled several skeins 
of ‘crewel,’ and not being able as yet to think of any¬ 
thing more interesting to do. Suddenly she broke forth 
in speech. ‘ I do wish I were an artist, so that I could 
take your picture as you look now, with the firelight fall¬ 
ing on your face and hair. Black is so dreadfully becom¬ 
ing to you, you know, with your beautiful, fair complex¬ 
ion ; but it isn’t every one who is lucky enough to be a 
5* 


106 THE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


widow, and have an excus.e for wearing mourning, you 
know. ’ 

“ Constance Lansing laughed. She had not cared for 
her husband, and therefore the tactless words found no 
sensitive place in her heart. ‘ My husband died three 
years ago,’ she said, quietly, ‘and I no longer wear 
mourning. But I am fond of black. It suits my fancy 
as well as my complexion.' 

“‘Just think!’ soliloquized Miss Dolly. ‘How nice 
it was of him to die while you were so young ! as long as 
he had to die at all, you see. You don’t look much older 
than I do even now, and I don’t think of any reason why 
it should seem disrespectful if I called you Constance, do 
you ? ’ 

‘ ‘ ‘ Certainly not. Call me so if you like, and if you 
don’t find the name too hard to “ come trippingly off your 
tongue. ’ ’ I am glad you take enough interest in me to 
wish to call me by my Christian name. ’ 

“ ‘Oh, that , of course. You know very well you are 
far and away the most interesting person on the post.’ 

“ ‘ Ah, you don’t know everybody yet,’ corrected Mrs. 
Lansing, shaking her chestnut head in a provoking way. 

“ ‘Why, yes, I do, long ago. At least everybody but 
that horrid Mr. Dacre, who shuts himself up like a hermit 
in his dilapidated old quarters at the end of the row, and 
who is going to be court-martialed next week. Serve him 
right, too, I dare say.’ 

“ Constance Lansing's face flushed with a redder glow 
than the firelight had lent it. ‘You are mistaken in 
thinking Mr. Dacre horrid, my dear,’ she said. ‘And it 
does not serve him right to be court-martialed next week. 
You shouldn’t talk upon subjects you know nothing 
about.’ 

“ ‘ Hoity-toity!’ ejaculated Miss Dolly, with more 


D ACRE’S CHRISTMAS GIFT. 


107 


force than elegance. ‘ I never , really ! But you don’t 
mean to say he isn’t a fiend after all? I might have 
known he was nice, though, just because General—no, 
Colonel Poppleton, I mean, says such hateful things about 
him every time he gets a chance. ’ 

“‘Your father hated him, I know,’ said Constance. 
‘ It is through General Poppleton principally that all his 
troubles have arisen.’ 

“‘Don’t call him my father!’ cried Dolly. ‘I’d be 
ashamed to own him as such ; and there is no reason I 
should, just because mamma happens to have changed a 
pretty name for an ugly one. But you have quite ex¬ 
cited my curiosity, so do tell me what this trouble of Mr. 
Dacre’s is.’ 

“ ‘ I scarcely know if I ought,’ began Constance, doubt¬ 
fully ; but Dolly interrupted her with a peremptory order 
to ‘go on.’ ‘Well, the beginning of it is quite an old 
story now,—three years old,’ Mrs. Lansing said, retro¬ 
spectively. ‘ I remember it was just before I came here, 
after my husband’s death. The whole regiment had 
newly arrived from Dakota, and Mr. Dacre had been 
quartermaster at his old post. In collecting property for 
the sudden move, a few articles were missing, for which 
he could not acconnt. He knew they would be found 
afterwards, and he might have been able to account for 
them even then if he had wished to implicate another 
officer, but he did not. Of course he was responsible for 
them, at least according to General Poppleton. Finally, 
without going so far as to injure the other officer in ques¬ 
tion, he proved in a way satisfactory to everybody, ex¬ 
cept those prejudiced against him by his enemies, that 
the responsibility had passed from his hands, and he 
would not pay for the alleged missing goods. He said 
that to do so would be a virtual admission of his care- 


108 THE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


lessness or guilt. The story is—but I must not tell you 
that. ’ 

“ ‘ Yes, yes ; I insist! I will know the rest.’ 

“‘The story is, then, that there are certain papers 
which have been ‘ ‘ pigeon-holed ’ ’ by General Poppleton 
that would throw a good deal of light on the matter, and 
the blame would be shifted to other shoulders than Mr. 
Dacre’s. But, of course, that can never be proved, 
though most people believe it; and, in the mean time, 
Mr. Dacre’s pay has been entirely stopped for the last 
three years. He has very little to live upon, but has 
been braving it out, hoping for the vindication which has 
never come, and probably never will now, as this court- 
martial—if the charges are proved against him—may 
very likely end his army career. Poor, poor fellow ! 
Such a bright, noble life marred and wasted ? ’ The last 
words she spoke as if to herself, with a strange look of 
pain upon her fair face that passed unnoticed by self-ab¬ 
sorbed Dolly. 

“‘He really isn’t horrid, then?’ the latter queried, 
her head on one side. 

“ ‘No.’ 

“ ‘ And not old ? ’ 

“ ‘ About twenty-nine or thirty.’ 

“ ‘ Oh, that is not so very old—for a man. And is he 
good-looking ? ’ 

He is called handsome. Here is his photograph you 
may see, if you like.’ And going to her davenport, Con¬ 
stance took from a locked drawer a picture of a young 
man in uniform,—a young man with rather dark, smil¬ 
ing eyes, black hair, well-cut features, and an expression 
that was inexplicably fascinating, even beyond its evident 
candor and intelligence. 

“ Dolly examined it critically. ‘ I like him,’ she finally 


DACRE’S CHRISTMAS OxIFT. 


109 


announced ; * and what is more, I am—going—to call on 
him.’ 

‘ ‘ ‘ Oh, Dolly, impossible ! ’ Constance cried. 

“ ‘ You will soon find, my dear, that nothing is impos¬ 
sible with me. I am going to do it, as he is in arrest and 
can’t come to see me, even if he cared to; and I am going 
this very afternoon. So, as it is growing late, I will say 
au revoir , which is about all the French I have brought 
away from Madame Fa Pierre’s.’ 

“ Constance looked at her young visitor aghast. ‘ You 
don’t really mean that you will go alone to call on a 
strange man you never saw before in your life ? Why, 
your father would never forgive you in the world ! ” 

‘ ‘ ‘ Colonel Poppleton can attend to his own affairs, and 
I will to mine; but I say, would you like to have me 
stop in later and tell you how I enjoyed the call ? ’ 

“ ‘ Well, yes, if you are determined to go, and will not 
take advice. Just for the curiosity , you know, I should 
well enough like to hear what occurred.’ 

“There were three chairs in the room, all old, with a 
suspiciously palsied look about their legs, and a depres¬ 
sion about their seats which was apt to communicate 
itself to the minds of those unwary enough to trust them¬ 
selves to their ‘ tender mercies. ’ There was a table cov¬ 
ered by an ink-stained red cloth, a bit of carpet which 
looked like a small oasis in a desert of bare floor, a home¬ 
made book-case stored with well-worn volumes, and sev¬ 
eral good pictures on the walls. There were also plenty 
of pipes, tobacco-bowls, rifles, shot-guns, swords, stray 
newspapers and cobwebs, and in the midst of this desola¬ 
tion and confusion sat a young man clad in a uniform 
very much the worse for wear. But it was the best 
he had (although it had seen two years of nearly steady 


110 THE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 

service), and so he had no thought of taking time to 
change it before receiving the visitor who was unexpect¬ 
edly announced. It had happened that Mr. Dacre’s 
‘ striker ’ was blacking Mr. Dacre’s much-worn boots in 
the back hall when the knock sounded, and so there was 
some one to answer the door beside the master of the 
house. Indeed, the latter might even have invented some 
pretext for excusing himself had not the visitor followed 
the ‘ striker, ’ who had announced her name, to the door 
of the front room. 

“ ‘ I was so afraid you wouldn’t see me, Mr. Dacre, if 
you just heard my name, and associated it with Colonel 
Poppleton’s, so I thought I would come straight in, and 
you couldn’t help yourself,’ said Dolly Devereux’s cheer¬ 
ful voice, as Dolly’s pretty face appeared in the doorway 
and lighted up the dismal room. 

‘ ‘ Dacre was electrified. It is possible that he had 
never received a visit from an unchaperoned young lady 
before, and the effect upon him was flatteringly pro¬ 
nounced. 

“‘Aren’t you glad to see me?’ artlessly inquired 
Dolly. ‘ I mean to be very nice to you. I have come on 
purpose to be nice, and to cheer you up a little, because 
people, and Mrs. Lansing especially, thought you needed 
cheering up at Christmas-time.’ 

“ ‘Heaven knows I need cheering!’ Dacre thought, 
but he only spoke aloud the last words of the idea taking 
shape within his mind. ‘ So Mrs. Lansing sent you to 
me? That was very kind in her.’ And though Dolly 
was pretty, undeniably bewitching, and dressed like a 
grown young lady, he looked into her eyes, and knew 
that at all events she had come to him only as a little 
girl. 

“ ‘ No, she didn’t. She said I musn’t do anything of 


DACRE’S CHRISTMAS GIFT. 


Ill 


the sort. But she also said ‘ ‘ Poor fellow ! Such a bright, 
noble life marred ! ’ ’ and she showed me a photograph she 
kept locked up in a drawer; so I was interested, and 
came in spite of her, you see. And I mean to make 
your Christmas a merrier one than you think possible 
now. Oh, you don’t know what I can do when I just 
make up my mind to it! I suppose ’—suddenly—‘ you 
quite understand who I am ? ’ 

“ ‘ I think so, Miss Devereux. Several people who 
have been so kind as to come and see me in my prison 
have spoken of you. And of course I appreciate your 
goodness in trying to give me a little Christmas cheer.’ 

“ ‘ And you don’t think I can do it ? ’ 

“ ‘ You can, if anybody could. But I fear I must wait 
until after next Wednesday before I can be beguiled into 
a very hilarious mood, and then the probabilities are, you 
know, that I shall be less inclined that way than ever 
before. ’ 

“ ‘ Next Wednesday ? Why, what happens then ? ’ 

“ ‘ It is the day set for my court. You see, they wanted 
to give me a little entertainment for Christmas-eve. I 
supposed you knew, or I would not have bored you by 
the mention of it, Miss Devereux.’ 

‘ ‘ Dolly rested her rounded elbow on the ink-stained 
table, and laid her chin in the hollow of her hand, while 
she turned a face full of interest and sympathy upon Mr. 
Dacre. 

“ 1 It’s a burning shame to have it Christmas-eve,’ she 
exclaimed, ‘ when you ought to be thinking of hanging 
up your stocking. But won’t you please tell me just 
what you are being tried for? Honestly, I don’t ask it 
meaning to be rude. ’ 

“Dacre smiled in genuine amusement. ‘Certainly,’ 
he said ; ‘ but I doubt if you can understand. I won’t go 


112 THE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


into the matter of charges and specifications, of which 
there are a good many, but tell you simply that I am to 
be tried for an alleged gross neglect of duty. It is imper¬ 
ative that an officer before leaving the garrison should 
ask permission of the commanding officer, while the 
lieutenant must also ask the same of his captain. And 
one officer of a company must always be on the post. 
Now, I went to town one evening, and my captain also 
was absent. A little trouble occurred among the soldiers 
while we were gone, and there was no officer of the com¬ 
pany to attend to it. When we returned, Captain dow¬ 
ser was called to account by the commanding officer (who, 
by the way, is a great friend of his), and said that I had 
never received his permission to leave the post. That I 
understood perfectly his intention of going away for the 
evening, and knew that I was expected to remain. I, of 
course, asserted that I had had Captain dowser’s permis¬ 
sion to absent myself, and my words were construed as 
disrespectful to both my superior officers—so that was an 
additional offence. And thus it stands between us at the 
present time. ’ 

‘ ‘ ‘ Dear, dear ! ’ ej aculated Dolly. ‘ How dreadfully it 
sounds ! But, of course, you are not guilty ? ’ 

“‘Of course I should be apt to say I was not,’re¬ 
turned Dacre, beginning to laugh ; but, as he met her 
eyes beaming into his, a flood of sympathy, interest and 
candid trust, his whole expression altered suddenly. He 
was silent an instant, facing her, and then he said : ‘ No, 
Miss Devereux, I am not guilty of the charges. I am in¬ 
nocent, though I can scarcely hope that you will believe 
me, and I most assuredly do not expect my judges to be¬ 
lieve me next week. I have everything against me— 
though I ought to have grown used to that in the last 
three years—and I think I shall be convicted and sen- 


D ACRE’S CHRISTMAS GIFT. 


113 

tenced. It is my sole streak of luck to be alone in the 
world and have none to be injured by my fall. I have 
only fought against fate for the past three years, and per¬ 
haps the struggle may as well end now as any time.’ 

“‘Yes, perhaps it may,’ said Dolly, conscious that 
Dacre had been speaking more to himself than to her ; 
‘ but there are different ways of ending things, you know. 
And oh, what a life I shall lead Colonel Poppleton, now I 
am quite sure of his being the fiend I have thought him 
all along ! He’d better be careful where he sits, steps, lies 
down, and what he eats and drinks after this, that’s all 1 
have to say, for he has got Dolly Devereux upon his track! ’ 

“It was Thursday, the 18th of December, when Miss 
Devereux paid her first call of condolence to her new pro¬ 
tege, and that call was not, by any means, her last. She, 
however, was not as general in her attentions towards her 
various friends in the garrison, and she saw far less of 
Mrs. Tansing than of old. As she had threatened, she 
devoted herself strictly to her mission, and the unfortunate 
General Poppleton’s life was rendered a burden to him by 
salted coffee, sugared soup, mutilated newspapers and 
slippers internally * set about with little willful ’ pins and 
tacks. She also found time, however, for a very diligent 
study of army regulations—a book popularly supposed to 
be either beyond or beneath the appreciation of the fair sex 
—and might have been seen pondering deeply over the 
rules set down for the conducting of military courts. Some¬ 
times she frowned, sometimes she smiled, and on one oc¬ 
casion General Poppleton was alarmed, but scarcely sur¬ 
prised, to find her executing sundry eccentric steps and pir¬ 
ouettes, indicative of exultation, all about the library, 
which once had been so sacredly his own. 

* ‘ The principal ornament of this library was a large 


114 THE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


and very beautiful mahogany desk, which had belonged 
(before Colonel Poppleton depleted his purse by purchas¬ 
ing it of Sypher) to a celebrated Russian countess. It 
was curiously carved and shaped to suit an elaborate sys¬ 
tem of secret drawers ; and this mysterious article of fur¬ 
niture possessed a degree of fascination for Dolly that w T as 
positively painful. She became uneasy whenever she saw 
its proud possessor seated before it, and yet, whenever he 
was there, she managed to remain present also. One day 
she had ensconced herself with a book in the bay-window, 
and the heavy curtains had fallen between her and the 
twilight of the room within. She had become absorbed 
in her volume (which, by the way, was a naughty French 
novel, a remnant of the general’s bachelor days, which 
had become stranded on that topmost of the book-case 
shelves, where the cream of such literature is generally to 
be found), and was not aware that any one had entered 
the room until, hearing a sound, she peeped through the 
aperture between the curtains, and saw her step-father 
standing at the fireplace, unconscious of the keen eyes 
dwelling upon his own. 

“ For a moment he stood with his hands behind him, 
in front of the fender, and there was a perturbed expres¬ 
sion on his countenance which suggested to Dolly an ex¬ 
plosion of the latest of her plots against his peace. What 
had happened now? she asked herself. Had he found 
the ammonia in his cologne-bottle ? had he learned of the 
exchange between the ink and mucilage? or had he 
chanced upon the onions in his best civilian hat ? Evi¬ 
dently, however, his emotion proceeded from matter ex¬ 
ceeding even these in seriousness ; for, going to the desk, 
he planted himself before it as if with a set purpose, and 
something which Dolly had long been vaguely 
wishing for took place. 


DACRE’S CHRISTMAS GIFT. 


115 


He remained for some time at the desk, and the cuckoo 
inhabiting the Swiss clock over the mantel had appeared 
twice, announcing the hour and half-hour, before he rose 
and left the room. As the portiere fell behind his stout 
form, Dolly laid her book down on the window-seat. 
Then she waited a moment, with a hand upon the cur¬ 
tain. The front door clanged unmistakably, and Miss 
Dolly ventured from her hiding-place into the fire-lit 
gloom of the empty room. She went straight to the desk, 
and seated herself in the chair lately vacated by the gen¬ 
eral. ‘The first head to the left,’ she said, half aloud, 
putting a plump little finger upon the nose of one in the 
row of small, carved, grinning faces that ornamented a 
panel on each side of the mirror set deep within the desk. 
She pressed firmly, with no result; then again, a trifle to 
the right, and the mirror swung aside, revealing a set of 
tiny drawers, one after another of which she hurriedly 
opened. In the lowest lay several long, folded papers, 
which Dolly glanced over with a rising color, and beneath 
them was a torn envelope addressed'to General Poppleton, 
Fort Washington, and marked ‘ Personal.’ Dolly looked 
curiously at the postmark, which was half gone, and 
would not have been able to make out the word with the 
meagre aid of the five connected letters ‘ Cheye, ’ had not 
a sudden recollection flashed into her mind. Oddly 
enough, she remembered hearing General Poppleton say 
the day before that he expected Captain Clowser to return 
from his business trip to Cheyenne in time for Dacre’s 
court. This word, perhaps, then, might be Cheyenne,— 
and the letter ? Yes, there was a letter inside ! 

“ Now Dolly, dark as was the road of depravity which 
she had cheerfully traveled during the sixteen summers 
of her active life, had not been in the habit of tampering 
with the private correspondence even of her few enemies, 


11G THE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 

and consequently she hesitated before inserting her thumb 
and finger between the torn edges of the envelope. But 
she did it at last, though the touch of the paper sent a 
tingling sensation through every nerve in her venture¬ 
some little body. ‘ I will just glance at the signature, at 
any rate,’ she thought. 

‘ ‘ ‘ Howland Clowser ’ was the name scrawled along the 
foot of the second page of note-paper, and just above it 
were some words which Dolly’s eyes fell upon almost— 
not quite —in spite of herself. ‘ Thanks for your assur¬ 
ance that you will see me through this affair, as you did 
through that unfortunate one three years ago. I shall 
stick to the line I adopted at the first, and do not see how 
Dacre can have the ghost of a chance. We will talk over 
the matter together before the court meets Wednesday, so 
that no discrepancies may arise.’ 

“ Dolly’s face flushed crimson as she read, or rather as 
these words forced themselves and their full meaning 
upon her consciousness ; and without an instant’s further 
hesitation she thrust the letter, envelope and bundle of 
papers into her little pocket, already crowded with girlish 
and innocent belongings. Then she slid the tell-tale mir¬ 
ror back into its place, and the whole appearance of the 
desk was as before. Equally deceiving was the expres¬ 
sion of the pretty face, which by the time its owner had 
tied on her hat and sallied forth in the crisp evening air 
had assumed its wonted mask of youthful rectitude and 
candor. A very superficial mask it was on this occasion, 
however, concealing a storm of contending feelings, which 
vibrated between joy, triumph and remorse. 

‘ ‘ The last sensation she had nearly managed to forget 
by the time she arrived at Dacre’s quarters, and stood 
knocking (with a heart which beat as loudly as her 
knuckles) at the door. Dacre opened it himself, and 


DACRE’S CHRISTMAS GIFT. 


117 


threw away his lighted cigarette when he discovered his 
visitor’s identity. 

“ ‘Isn’t it rather late for you to be out alone, Miss 
Devereux ? ’ he asked, when he had greeted her, and be¬ 
come convinced that it was her fixed intention to go in. 

“ ‘ Oh, it might be if it were any one but me,’ said 
Dolly, running before him into the house. ‘ Rules that 
apply to other people don’t to me, as by this time you 
ought to have learned. I have brought the Christmas 
present I promised you at last. ’ Her voice trembled as 
she spoke, and Dacre instinctively felt that something un¬ 
usual had occurred, although the lamps were not yet 
lighted, and he could scarcely see her face. 

“ ‘ I didn’t know you had promised me one,’ said 
Dacre, smiling; ‘ but I am sure I thank you all the 
same. ’ 

“ ‘ I promised myself to give it you, at any rate,’ Dolly 
amended. “ From the first day I saw you I vowed to do 
it if I could. I should have been glad to spite the col¬ 
onel, even if it had not been that I liked you so much. I 
would have done this or anything else—for you. Do you 
remember what day it is ? ’ 

“‘Yes,’ returned Dacre, slowly and reflectively, star¬ 
ing through the twilight at the silhouette Dolly’s profile 
formed against the window. ‘ Yes; it is the twenty- 
third. ’ 

“ ‘And to-morrow your court is to begin. Well, my 
Christmas gift reaches you just in time.’ 

“ ‘You speak in riddles,’ smiled Dacre, really puzzled 
by the girl’s strange look and manner. ‘ But I must 
light the lamps, and do your gift the justice it deserves.’ 

“ Dolly waited until the bare room was illumined, and 
then said, questioningly, ‘Why is it, do you suppose, 
Mr. Dacre, that people who have done something wicked 


118 THE COLONEL,’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


don’t destroy all evidence against themselves, but keep 
enough put away secretly to tell the whole history of their 
crime ? ’ 

“ 4 All that smacks a good deal of the ubiquitous dime- 
novel,’ said Dacre, * and it is more than I can do to ex¬ 
plain it; but I believe it is generally admitted to be the 
case, queer as it seems. However, that has nothing to do 
with my Christmas gift, I suppose.’ 

“ ‘Judge for yourself,’ cried Dolly, with pretended non¬ 
chalance, as she handed Dacre a bundle of folded papers 
and the letter she had replaced in the envelope. For a 
moment he stood fingering them over in surprised si¬ 
lence ; then his whole expression altered strangely, and 
his face flushed and paled. 

“ ‘What are these papers, and how did you come by 
them ? ’ he questioned, in a strained, hard voice. 

“ Dolly became a little frightened, but bravely stood 
her ground. ‘ I watched my chance, and when I saw 
Colonel Poppleton put a letter in a secret drawer of his 
desk this afternoon, I waited till he was gone, and took it 
out with the rest of the papers that were there. Then I 
—then ’ 

‘ ‘ ‘ Then what ? ’ very sternly. 

“ ‘ I—read them, and saw that, just as I suspected, they 
referred to you,—to your trouble three years ago, which 
Constance told me of, and also to this very court,—at 
least the letter does; and, oh, I was so glad ! ’ She 
looked up at him half furtively, half appealingly, and was 
frightened at his face. ‘ Oh, Mr. Dacre! ’ she cried, 

‘ don’t be hateful to me about it! I can’t stand it if you 
are, after all I have gone through for your sake. Don’t 
scold me, but just think what you are saved from. There 
are the papers which fix all the responsibility of the loss 
three years ago upon Captain Clowser, and there is the 


DACRK’S CHRISTMAS GIFT. 


119 


tetter which can prove to anybody your innocence in the 
case that conies up to-morrow. You will be a free man 
again ; the burden will be lifted that you have borne and 
fretted under for so long ! ’ 

‘ ‘ ‘ Good God ! that an innocent-faced child like you 
should prove such a temptress! ’ he exclaimed, staring at 
her with a species of horror growing in his eyes. ‘ Do 
you expect me to stoop to the basest dishonor in order to 
vindicate myself in the eyes of my world? I would 
rather be dismissed the service to-morrow, with an undy¬ 
ing stain attached to my name, than so much as draw 
that letter from its envelope, or remove the band that 
holds those papers together. I owe neither of the men 
you speak of any gratitude, but I would take no advan¬ 
tage of them in the dark. If their honor lay in my hands, 
I would give it back to them without exposing one stain, 
and fight my own battle in my own way, stand or fall.’ 

“ He had spoken in a loud, excited tone, but his voice 
dropped as he concluded, and very quietly he laid the 
papers down on the table. ‘ I ought not have spoken to 
you so,’ he said, turning to Dolly again with the expres¬ 
sion which had frightened her fading from his eyes, and 
a strangely soft and pleasant light dawning there instead. 
‘ I ought to have remembered your youth and inexperi¬ 
ence, and how differently such matters must look to a 
child like you from what they appear to a man. You 
meant to serve me. You risked a great deal for me, and 
—I thank yon, but you did not know what you were do¬ 
ing, and it remains with me to think for us both. Take 
those papers back—I can’t touch them again : they seem 
to burn me—and put them where you found them. No 
one shall ever know of your Christmas gift, child, except 
yourself and me.’ 

“ ‘Oh, Mr. Dacre! ’ Dolly cried, ‘you have so disap- 


120 THE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


pointed me! I can hardly bear it. To think I have 
done all this for you, and you will not accept it, but only 
blame, and—and perhaps hate me for it! I wanted so to 
help you, and now—you must suffer, and I can do noth¬ 
ing for you any more.’ As she spoke bright tears rose 
and glistened in her eyes, then rolled unrestrained over 
her cheeks. 

“ Dacre went to her and took her hand impulsively. 
‘ Don’t fancy for a moment that I could hate you,’ he 
said. ‘ What I feel for you is as far as possible removed 
from hate. You have been a very dear little friend to a 
lonely fellow who has few real friendships to call his own. 
But I think, when you reflect, you would rather have me 
suffer than do a wrong, or even voluntarily profit by one 
already done. And I shall never forget how you have 
tried to serve me.’ 

‘ ‘ ‘ There is yet one more thing I may do, ’ murmured 
Dolly, through her tears. 

II. The Court-Martial. 

As described in a letter from Miss Dolly Devereux to 
her friend Miss Nettie Ainsworth. 

“‘Darling Netty,— When I wrote you last I was 
very low in my mind. I scarcely know how to define my 
frame now, but there is one thing, at any rate, I can tell 
you. I don’t see why people are always taking a woman 
to represent an angel in pictures and stories. / think 
now it ought to be a man, though, do you know, Netty, 
men are awfully aggravating at times,—the very best of 
them? They don’t care if they break a person’s heart! 
But I must not stop to discuss questions in philosophy , as 
I am sure you are pining to hear the conclusion of the in¬ 
teresting story begun in my last. It couldn’t have been 


DACRE’S CHRISTMAS GIFT. 


121 


more romantic if it had been all a fib instead of real hon¬ 
est truth, could it ? and I believe you will say so, more 
than ever, when you learn the rest. Well, I wrote you 
on the twenty-third, the night Mr. Dacre refused to do 
what I wanted him to, and his court was set for the next 
day at eleven o’clock. I was desperate. I didn’t care 
what I did. You know I had been reading all about that 
sort of thing in the army regulations {such a stupid book, 
my dear !), and I was confident there was only one thing 
for me to do, if I did anything more at all. It was an 
awful risk, too, and the bare idea of it gave me a feeling 
like little frizzles up and down my spine, while I didn’t 
even know if Mr. Dacre, with his queer fancies about 
proprieties, would thank me for it; but I wouldn’t stop 
to think of that. The court-room where he was to be 
tried was in a big house called the ‘ ‘ headquarters build¬ 
ing,” and the hospital is in the same place. So I made 
an errand to get some medicine, and then slipped up to 
the court-room, which I had been in one day with an 
officer, just to take a peep. It was very early, and no one 
was there yet, which was just what I wanted, but my 
heart was beating so I could hardly think. I did what I 
had come for (what that was I will tell you by and by), 
and then I had meant to go out and come back again to 
sit in the room during the trial. Lieutenant Dean had 
promised to bring me, if I would wear a veil. But, just 
as I was ready to run, I heard some one outside the door, 
and I had only time to rush into a closet at the corner of 
the room without being seen, which would have spoiled 
it all. There were shelves full of books and papers in the 
closet, and I had to crouch down under them, which 
cramped me dreadfully, and, besides, I was afraid I 
should smother before I could get out. But even that 
would be better than having any one come in upon me 
6 



122 THE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


where I was. I was nearly frightened to death, too, on 
account of spiders and other creeping things I quite knew 
must be there. My head was high enough to let me peep 
through the key-hole, luckily, and pretty soon the ‘ court ’ 
began to come in. I wondered what time it was, but the 
clock was where I could not see it, and nobody even 
glanced towards it, so they must have felt very certain it 
was the correct hour to meet. The officers were all in full 
dress, and appeared quite solemn and grand. I could see 
Mr. Dacre, and his face was white, but he was perfectly 
composed, and had a brave look in his eyes that made 
my heart beat fast. A colonel from another post was 
president of the court, and I thought he seemed kind 
and just—so different from Colonel Poppleton and 
Captain Clowser, who came in as witnesses, and looked 
(at least, to me, who knew all) ready to drop with 
shame and guiltiness. By the way, I had had the fore¬ 
thought to empty the red pepper-box into the colonel’s 
pocket-handkerchief before leaving home, so that when 
he came to use it in the court-room he had a really terri¬ 
ble time, and I was afraid they would hear me laughing 
in the closet; but perhaps they thought it was a mouse. 
Well, the trial went on, and every word was distinctly 
audible to me. I felt like applauding, and shouting, 

“ Hear, hear ! ” when Mr. Dacre plead “ not guilty,” in 
a firm voice ; and then again I could hardly help running 
out to choke Colonel Poppleton and Captain Clowser ( 
when they told the pack of falsehoods they had skillfully 
gotten up. Poor Mr. Dacre had no witness on his side 
at all. His case had to stand on his word alone, and of 
course that could not amount to much in the eyes of the 
court against that of his captain and the commanding 
officer of his post. It was an exciting trial, and the court 
did not adjourn at lunch-time, but went straight on with 


D ACRE’S CHRISTMAS GIFT. 


123 


its proceedings. Once the court was “cleared,” as 
they called it, when even the prisoner had to go out, and 
then the members talked about Mr. Dacre in a perfectly 
horrid way. No one but the president had a good word 
to say for him. So, finally, when all was done, and the 
court was “cleared for deliberation” for the last time, I 
felt quite prepared for what would come. They took a 
vote, beginning at the junior member, and every man 
(even that nice, kind-looking president) said “Guilty,” 
without pausing for a moment’s thought. Then they 
talked awhile, and presently each one wrote out on a 
piece of paper what in his opinion the sentence ought to 
be. At last one was decided on, which seemed to please 
everybody in the court, after they had discussed the fact 
of the prisoner’s having already been in disgrace with the 
authorities during the last three years. He was to be 
dismissed the service of the United States, and the cold, 
cruel w r ords made my blood boil within me when I re¬ 
membered the uselessness and injustice of it all. But 
there was still hope, and now was the time to prove the 
success of what Madame Ua Pierre would call my coup 
d'etat . 

“ ‘Just as the president finished speaking, a bugle-call 
blew outside the building. It was a call that every one 
there knew very well; and at Fort Washington it was al¬ 
ways sounded at half-past three. The officers looked sur¬ 
prised to hear it, and those I could see glanced up towards 
the clock. Then I saw several take out their watches 
and stare at them. 

“ ‘ “ Mr. President,” said one of the elder members, 
“this clock is much too slow. We have exceeded the 
hour prescribed for the court, and the proceedings there¬ 
fore become illegal.” 

‘ ‘ ‘ The president pulled out his watch and glanced at 




124 THE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


it, as though he could not believe the evidence of his own 
eyes. 

“ ‘ “ This has been done purposely,” he said, looking so 
very solemn and angry that I began to tremble and quake. 

‘ This clock has evidently been set back by some person 
interested. It could never have so suddenly lost so much 
time itself.” 

“ ‘ “ That, however, does not alter the fact that this 
trial will go for nothing, as all action taken after three 
o’clock, according to the order for the court, becomes ille¬ 
gal,” replied the other man. “ And no officer can be tried 
twice upon the same charges.” 

* ‘ ‘ Every one looked exceedingly blank, and I was so 
happy I forgot the cramps in my limbs that had come from 
so long sitting still. 

“ ‘Just under the president’s nose, on the big table 
around which they all sat, lay a volume of army regula¬ 
tions. Nobody knew better than I that it was there. He 
picked it up, almost as though I had mesmerized him into 
doing it, opened it where a lot of papers were put in as if 
for a mark—and of course he had to glance at the papers. 
They had been arranged with the writing outside, so he 
couldn’t help seeing certain words, if he tried, and he 
couldn't see immediately to whom they belonged. That 
moment was the most trying one for me. I clinched my 
hails into the palms of my hands till they cut me, and the 
pain was almost a relief. But, oh, Netty ! it all came 
right, and just as I had hoped and prayed, but hardly 
dared to think it would. When the president had read so 
far, he was bound to read more, and it was not till after 
he had learned too much to ignore that he saw the papers 
Were private ones of Colonel Poppleton’s. At least I sup¬ 
pose that must have been the way, for he started so that 
every one could notice it, and kept on reading, while his 


DACRE’S CHRISTMAS GIFT. 


125 


face grew very stem and grim. Presently he said he had 
just made a discovery that had a grave bearing on the 
case in hand, and which it became his very painful duty 
to take action upon. Then he stated what he had found, 
and even told about the papers relating to the trouble 
three years ago. Of course it would change matters 
completely, he went on, and he would be obliged to lay 
the affair before the reviewing authority. It would be 
very serious for some persons concerned, but it was for? 
tunate for Mr. Dacre that this had taken place in the nick 
of time. 

“ ‘Well, that was virtually the end for that day ; and 
when the members of the court at last left the room, I 
slipped out of my prison, feeling perfectly happy, but so 
stiff and cramped I could scarcely crawl. I reached 
home without being seen, but, much as I longed to, I 
dared not go to Mr. Dacre with the blissful tidings of 
what had occurred. I thought it would be better to let 
him find it out in some other way. I went to Constance, 
though, that same evening, when I found that I was pos¬ 
itively expiring for a confidante. But, would you believe 
it? she was just as unsatisfactory as she could be. In¬ 
stead of hugging and kissing and crying over me, she 
showed a feeling of jealousy on account of my success; 
She was evidently very low in her mind when I went to 
call, and when I told her the news, she would scarcely 
credit it at first. When she did finally, she turned 
ghastly pale, and looked ready to faint. And what do 
you suppose she said ? ‘ ‘ And you have been able to do 

all this for him—you, a child, almost a stranger, while I 
—I have done nothing ? ’ ’ 

“ ‘ I let her see that I was hurt, and couldn’t resist the 
temptation of remarking that, at any rate, Mr. Dacre 
would appreciate what I had done, as he had already in- 


126 THE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 

formed me lie valued my friendship. And do you know, 
Netty, when he said that, I wonder if he didn’t mean 
something more f I am sixteen, you remember, and my 
dresses are quite to the floor. 

“ ‘ Now I must close, and shall add a postscript, with 
further developments, in a few days. 

“ ‘ P.S.—It is too bad I have allowed such an age to 
go by without finishing my narrative, Netty, but the 
truth is the times have been so exciting I have not felt 
able to write satisfactorily. This post has been exactly 
like a wasp’s nest, and at home things have been espe¬ 
cially queer. I have found out, however, in spite of all 
the mysteries, that Colonel Poppleton is going to resign, 
and I shouldn’t wonder if Captain Clowser did the same. 
The inspector-general of the department has been at the 
house closeted with the colonel several times, and on each 
occasion the latter would come out after the interview 
with a smile the reverse of sweet. As for me, I am in 
awful disgrace, though of course no one knows positively 
what share I had in the affair ; and I am to be sent away 
to a horrible school somewhere in Boston (the very most 
rigid in that dreadful strait-laced place) I am informed. 
I shall sigh for Madame La Pierre’s as for the “flesh-pots 
of Egypt,” I’m afraid. It is now the twenty-fifth of Jan¬ 
uary, and I am expected to be packed off almost any day. 
I dare say you are wondering at my running on in this 
fashion without a word of Mr. Dacre and my relations 
with him. But, oh, Netty! I caimot bring myself to 
write at length on that subject. Boxes and boxes of 
candy could not make up to me for the disappointment 
he has caused me to endure. Not that he was unkind, 
or reproached me for what I had done. Oh, no ; when I 
saw him he thanked me in beautiful words almost as nice 
as men use in novels, and even kissed my hand as though 


DACRE’S CHRISTMAS GlET. 


127 


I had been a queen. He said, whether or not he ap¬ 
proved the action I had taken, and it was too late to speak 
of that, he felt more grateful than he could ever express. 
I had given him back something far dearer to him than 
life—his good name —and now, when by an act of 
Congress he should be enabled again to draw his pay 
(thanks to me), he would beg leave to present me with 
the finest diamond ring he could find at Tiffany’s, just 
to remind me continually of the gratitude which his 
best words would be too poor ever to make me under¬ 
stand. 

“ ‘ That was all very lovely, of course, but I expected 
it to be only a preface to something more ; and, would 
you believe it, Netty ? it wasn't that in the least. 

“ ‘It is only a month since Christmas, and since he 
came out of arrest, but he has been at Constance Lan¬ 
sing's every day regularly, and now they are said to be 
engaged. I am even informed that he has been in love 
with her ever since they first met, though he would not 
ask her to marry him on account of his misfortunes ; but 
that , at all events, for my own vanity’s sake, I shall try 
not to believe. I shall endeaver to think he really did 
care for me, but on account of Colonel Poppleton did not 
dare “ask for my hand,” as the people say in story¬ 
books. And oh, Netty ! he is my first love, except Jim¬ 
my Allen and Tom Hastings, whom now I scorn to take 
into account. Constance is very friendly of late, and can 
hardly pet me enough, but I do not care to go to her 
house as often as I used. And, Netty, I wish you would 
advise me. If you were in my place would you take his 
diamond ring.’ ” 

The applause of the evening followed this fair lady’s 
gracious effort, and then no man was given the floor until 
‘ ‘ Dot, ” “ Dora, ” “ Miss Grace, ’ ’ had been appealed to by 


128 THE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 

every voice at the table. It was only after a world of 
coaxing that “The Colonel’s Daughter ” told her tale : 


THE COLONEL’S DAUGHTER. 

“ In my class at Vassar there were two girls—cousins, 
and inseparable companions ; one was very fair, and was 
the daughter of General Lennox ; the other was a very 
brilliant brunette, with high cheek bones and small, snap¬ 
ping black eyes. She was the daughter of Colonel Len¬ 
nox, a younger brother of the General, but her mother 
was a half-breed Indian. Both girls bore the strange 
name of Kiamush. 

‘ ‘ I spent the Christmas holidays of my Senior year 
with them, for their parents were in New York at the 
time, and I learned all the particulars of the strange ro¬ 
mance which invested their mothers’ lives. 

“ It seems just like a story, and if the parties were not 
living I think I would embellish it a little and send it to 
some magazine. I will tell it now, with the versions I 
learned from the different members of the family all 
blended into one, so as to make it a connected tale : 

“ Many years ago, when the West was a desolate region, 
with but few settlements, and mainly peopled by the In¬ 
dians, who were far from friendly towards the whites, 
Colonel Hartwell’s regiment was stationed at one of our 
distant forts—a place surrounded with the beauties of na¬ 
ture, but in entire exile from any places of importance. 
He brought his young bride with him—a beautiful girl 
of eighteen, with blue eyes and a profusion of golden 
curls—and, as there were only a few other ladies in the 
camp, she was naturally the belle of the regiment. Her 


the colonel’s daughter. 


129 


husband idolized her, and was very proud of the admira¬ 
tion she commanded. 

After two years of absolute happiness, notwithstand¬ 
ing the cold and privations of two severe winters, and 
several skirmishes with the Indians, in which the Fort had 
been attacked, the Colonel’s wife died, leaving as a leg¬ 
acy to her husband a little, blue-eyed daughter, and the 
remembrance of her own sweet life. 

“She had requested that the baby be called Kiamush, 
after her Indian servant, whom she had deemed perfectly 
faithful, and who had lived with her from the day she 
came to the Fort, and to whose care she must now entrust 
her little one. The chaplain had christened the child at 
the bed-side of the dying mother. With her own hands 
Mrs. Hartwell placed around her little daughter’s neck a 
string of gold beads, which her own mother had put upon 
her when she was a baby. The chain was so long that it 
wound twice around the little slender throat. 

“ The Colonel was so broken down at his wife’s death 
that he was never willing to see the baby, whose very ex¬ 
istence he hated. She was wholly left to the care of the 
Indian nurse, and the people of the regiment almost never 
saw her. The winters were so cold and the accommoda¬ 
tions so poor, that the officers’ wives seldom attempted to 
remain a second winter in the desolate region, but betook 
themselves to the East before another set in. Several 
years elapsed, and the Colonel still refused to take any 
notice of his child, who the nurse always assured him was 
well and happy. 

“After as long as furlough as was allowable it was 
announced at the Fort one day that the Colonel was about 
to return, and that he would not come alone. His rooms 
were arranged, the grim Indian nurse was seen going 
about looking more severe and stoical than ever, and the 
6 * 


130 THE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


little six-year old child, who had been in such seclusion, 
was seen at a window or door peeping out, but was al¬ 
ways summarily jerked back by her nurse. It was cur¬ 
rent at the Fort that Colonel Hartwell’s daughter was 
lacking mentally, and therefore had been kept all these 
years in the background, and many pitied the new bride 
for the responsibility she must assume. 

“In an old lumbering stage plying along the prairie 
towards the encampment came the Colonel again, bring¬ 
ing a bride to the Fort, which had been much improved 
the last year or two. 

“ ‘ My dear,’ he said to his wife, as familiar landmarks 
showed him that they were not far from their destination, 

‘ I don’t know what you can do with Kiamush. I really 
know nothing personally of my child except that she is 
well and her nurse says happy.’ 

“ ‘ Do you mean, Henry, ’ asked his bride, ‘ that you 
willingly have had nothing to do with her? I supposed 
your regimental duties were what had prevented your 
seeing more of her. ’ 

“ ‘ I have never held her in my arms or even kissed her 
since her mother died,’ he answered, gloomily. ‘And I 
seldom see her; she is frightfully tanned and does not 
look like her mother or me. I fear you will have a very 
hard time with her and that crotchety old nurse.’ 

“ ‘ Never fear, Henry, I have yet to see the child whose 
love I couldn’t win.’ 

“‘Or the grown person either,’ said the bridegroom, 
smiling; for a weight was lifted from his shoulders at 
the thought of such a guardian for his little neglected 
girl. 

“ It was late in the afternoon when the stage rumbled 
up to the hotel which served as post-office and variety 
store as well. Several of the officers were there to meet 


THE COLONEL’S DAUGHTER. 


131 


their Colonel and convey him with honor to the barracks, 
where the few ladies gladly welcomed the new addition 
to their circle, and with feminine accuracy instantly de¬ 
cided her age, and passed judgment upon her personal 
appearance. 

“ Colonel Hartwell did not intend that his wife should 
go to the nursery that night, but she insisted, though the 
old nurse grumbled and said that the child was asleep. 
Mrs. Hartwell, however, gained her point, as she always 
did, and together the father, who had so long neglected 
his child, and the new mother, who yearned over the lit¬ 
tle one, and longed to fill a mother’s place to her, stood, 
candle in hand, beside the little bed. 

‘ ‘ IyOng the Colonel gazed at the round, brown face, for 
she was apparently very much tanned. Her crop of 
short, dark hair was so unlike her mother’s golden locks. 

“ ‘ You see, dear,’ he said, ‘ there is no resemblance to 
her mother ; I am afraid she is going to look like me.’ 

“‘We will hope she will resemble both of her parents 
in character,’ said the bride, a trifle disappointed perhaps 
herself. 

‘ ‘ The next day after breakfast the little Kiamush was 
brought to their room to assist at the unpacking and get 
acquainted. She looked sullen and obstinate, and re¬ 
fused to go to either her father or mother. But it was 
not to be wondered at, for she had lived six years of piti¬ 
ful isolation, the nurse always having refused to let her 
play with the other children at the Fort. 

“ Mrs. Hartwell coaxed her to come, and held out a 
gaily-dressed doll and a bright picture-book, but in vain. 
She then decided to go on quietly with the unpacking 
and see if, after becoming used to their appearance, the 
shyness would not wear off. 

“ On the bureau lay a large silk handkerchief, with a 


132 THE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 

gay border, and a little coral necklace ; the latter was in¬ 
tended for Kiamush. 

“ Thinking that they were not watching her, she crept 
stealthily towards the coveted articles, looking behind her 
to see if she were watched. Feeling that she was still 
unobserved, she proceeded to array herself. The kerchief 
she put square over her shoulders, knotting the corners 
in front; being unable to unclasp the necklace, she 
twisted it around her wrist. Then seeing some feathers 
in a box, she tried to arrange them in her short hair, try¬ 
ing the effect in the mirror, and muttering some words in 
the dialect of the Ojibways, although she could talk Eng¬ 
lish after a fashion. 

“ Suddenly she saw that she was watched, and a defiant 
expression crept over her face. But her new mother said 
gently : ‘ That necklace is for you, dear, but it is meant 
to go around your little neck ; let me unclasp it. ’ 

“ Kiamush looked at her distrustfully, but the pleasant 
smile reassured her, and she stood gently while the chain 
was arranged. 

‘ ‘ From the box which the Colonel was unpacking he 
had taken a violin and bow and laid them on the table. 
The instant his back was turned the child had the bow 
and tried to bend it into a shape suitable for an ‘ archer 
bold,’ and looked about, as if seeking for an arrow, but 
finding none, cast it aside. 

“ Finally she took the doll, petted it, and, rocking it to 
and fro, crooned a little lullaby over it: ‘ Ewa-yea, Ewa- 
yea.’ She then started for the door, calling her nurse, 
and evidently eager to show her her treasures. 

“ Leaving her safe with her nurse, the Colonel returned 
to his wife ; ‘ Ida,’ he said, ‘ I have only myself to blame 
that Ki is so like a little savage. ’ 

“ ‘ Living only with an Indian, it is not to be wondered 


THE COLONEL’S DAUGHTER. 


133 


at,’ she answered ; ‘ and I can do but little with her until 
I win her love; but it shall be won,’ she added with 
energy. 

“Weeks elapsed, and Mrs. Hartwell found that her 
duties as step-mother were more arduous than she had 
imagined. She at last won the child’s love, but yet she 
would constantly break out in some flagrant act of dis¬ 
obedience. If punished, as oftentimes was necessary, she 
always planned and executed some act of revenge,—once 
tearing to pieces an exquisite scarf which Mrs. Hartwell 
had been embroidering ; another time she threw a bottle 
of choice perfume out of the window, and unfortunately 
it fell upon the head of the First lieutenant, who stood 
beneath talking to the Colonel. 

‘ ‘ They suspected that these tricks were at the direct 
instigation of the old nurse. 

‘ ‘ Kiamush had had absolutely no religious training ; 
for how could an ignorant Indian woman teach what she 
did not know herself? Kiamush had only some idea of a 
Great Spirit, who, she thought, made the tops of the dis¬ 
tant forest trees wave to and fro in the wind, and who 
also sent the fierce thunder-storms. At times it actually 
seemed as if she possessed no soul; not merely that it was 
unawakened, but that there was nothing spiritual to 
arouse more than we find in any domestic animal. It did 
not seem possible that the sign of the cross had ever been 
traced in baptism upon her brow. 

“ One morning, after they were seated at the breakfast 
table, she appeared with the curly scalp of her best doll 
suspended from her waist by a cord; and at night she 
insisted upon sleeping on the floor instead of in her bed. 

“ The Colonel and his wife talked it over that evening, 
and feeling almost discouraged, they decided that some 
means must be taken to separate her from the old nurse. 


134 THE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


They disliked to turn her away, for the first Mrs. Hart¬ 
well had been really attached to her, and the child was 
also perfectly devoted to her. 

“ ‘ There is a tradition,’ said the Colonel, ‘ that one of 
my ancestors married an Indian, and heredity is such a 
strange thing that it may be some of her traits have de¬ 
scended to my child. ’ 

“Mrs. Hartwell laughed. ‘We might as well believe 
that in some former existence Ki was an Indian Princess, 
and that her soul has merely taken to itself another 
body.’ 

“‘But really,’ said her husband, ‘I was not jesting, 
for in Colonial times my great-grandfather harbored some 
Indians during one of the Indian wars, and they vowed 
that none of their tribe should ever harm a descendant of 
the Leonards. That part of the story I know is true, but 
whether he married into the tribe afterwards or not I 
can’t say.’ 

“ ‘ Her nurse’s influence would account for everything, 
I think,’ said his practical wife. 

“One day the Colonel called Kiamush to him, and 
asked to see her string of gold beads ; she promptly held 
up her little coral necklace. 

“ ‘ Not that; your gold beads, I mean,’ he had said. 

“ ‘ I never had any, ’ she replied. 

“The old nurse being questioned, said that she had 
put them carefully away, as the string was broken, and 
she feared they might get lost. 

“ Christmas-tide was approaching, and every day Mrs. 
Hartwell took little Kiamush in her lap and told her the 
old, old story of that glorious night in Bethlehem, trying 
to incite in her a love for the Holy Child and His teach¬ 
ings. Day after day she talked to her on the blessedness 
of living a true, pure life, with no secret sins or naughty 


THE colonel’s daughter. 


135 


deeds to conceal. She told her in simple language of the 
pain it brought to ourselves, and to our conscience—that 
little light within us—and, what was still worse, that it 
grieved the Holy Child and our friends also. 

“The stoical old nurse was usually in the room sew¬ 
ing and listened with keen interest, but never betrayed 
by word what she felt. One day, however, she gave ut¬ 
terance to a deep groan and left the room. The next day 
she could not be found ; then a week elapsed and she did 
not return. Kiamush mourned her absence, for Christ¬ 
mas was nearly there, and she was to have a tree for the 
first time, and all the children at the Fort were invited to 
come; but she felt that it would be incomplete without 
the one she still loved more than any one else. 

“ Christmas eve came and Mrs. Hartwell put Ki to bed 
early, so she had had a good, long sleep before the caval¬ 
ry trumpet sounded for the extinguishing of the lights. 
After that she seemed restless, and called her mother sev¬ 
eral times, saying she had dreamed the Christ-Child was 
coming. She was much excited and it was long before 
her mother could again quiet her to sleep. In the morn¬ 
ing she awakened with the same exclamation, saying, 

‘ He has come and brought nursie with Him.’ 

‘ ‘ At breakfast one of the servants told the Colonel that 
the old nurse had returned laden with such a roll of 
blankets that she seemed scarcely able to stagger under 
it. As the guard knew her he had let her pass. 

‘ ‘ After breakfast Kiamush went back to her bed-room 
for some of the little gifts which had been in her stock¬ 
ing. A loud scream from her brought the Colonel, his 
wife and others to the spot. 

“There on Kiamush’s little bed lay a delicate child 
with a profusion of tangled hair on its well-shaped head 
and around its throat a string of gold beads. Crouching 


136 THE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


in the corner was the old nurse, thin and haggard, but 
defiant in expression. 

‘ ‘ ‘ What does this mean ? ’ demanded the Colonel. 

“She remained in the same position, obstinate and 
sullen, and the sternness of the Colonel prevailed nothing. 
But Mrs. Hartwell went to her, laid her white hand upon 
her shivering arm and said quietly, but firmly, ‘ You 
must tell me what this means.’ Then with little Ki 
nestling in her arms she poured forth a rather incoherent 
story which was similar to Tennyson’s ‘ Lady Clare.’ 

“ ‘Are ye out of your mind, my nurse, my nurse,’ 

Said Lady Clare, ‘ that ye speak so wild ? ’ 

‘As God’s above,’ said Alice, the nurse, 

‘ I speak the truth ; you are my child. 

The old Earl’s daughter died at my breast; 

I speak the truth as I live by bread! 

I buried her like my own sweet child, 

And put my child in her stead.’ 

“Similar, I say to ‘Lady Clare,’ but with this differ¬ 
ence. When the nurse found that the Colonel took no 
notice of the baby, and that it was frail and likely to die, 
she had taken advantage of his absence one time to go 
over the mountain to her people and leave the Colonel’s 
child to live or die as the Great Spirit should decide ; and 
had brought back her own little motherless grandchild 
from its forest home ; whose mother had died of a broken 
heart because of the desertion of her white husband. 

“She had kept up the deception until hearing Mrs. 
Hartwell’s teachings to Kiamush, but they had wrought 
upon her to such a degree that she could bear it no longer. 
So she had walked miles and miles through the great 
snow-drifts and brought back the lost child. 

‘ ‘ The truth of the story was apparent, for the slumber- 


the colonels daughter. 


137 


ing child, ‘ the little Christ-child, ’ Kiamush called it, was 
a perfect likeness of its own mother. 

‘ ‘ The Colonel saw the same rosebud mouth, the long, 
dark eyelashes and golden hair, the delicate taper fingers 
and the small, perfectly-shaped ear, fitting close to the 
head ; and when the noise awakened the real little Kia- 
mush, the lifted eyelids displayed great baby-blue eyes, 
with a timid, shy little heart looking out of them. Of 
course she was tanned, and had been sadly neglected as 
regards personal care, but, nevertheless, Colonel Hartwell 
recognized his own child, the legacy which his young 
wife had left him, and which he had despised. 

“ He was too overcome to decide what would be a fit¬ 
ting punishment for the treacherous nurse ; but knowing 
that his own shameful neglect was the chief cause, he 
ordered for the present she be put to bed after having 
some food, and Mrs. Hartwell saw, herself, that she was 
securely locked in. Then the new child, who seemed 
much frightened, was put in a warm bath, then dressed 
in one of her supplanter’s white flannel night-gowns, and 
after drinking a glass of warm milk she fell asleep once 
more beneath her father’s roof. 

“ The little Indian Kiamush was hardly willing to leave 
the bedside of the sleeper, but Mrs. Hartwell bore her off 
to matins, which the Chaplain was to say at eleven. 

“The Colonel wished to remain to watch his child lest 
the old nurse might repent of her repentance and secure 
her again, and Mrs. Hartwell felt that his thoughts were 
naturally in the past, and in them she had no share. 

“The news of the strange arrival of the Colonel’s real 
child spread like wildfire, and soon every company in the 
regiment was discussing the wonderful Christmas news. 

“ After dinner the children all assembled at the Colonel’s 
apartments to see the tree, to which they had been in- 


138 the: colonel’s Christmas dinner. 

vited. The little stranger from the forest, dressed in one 
of Ki’s little frocks, sat shy and frightened on Mrs. Hart¬ 
well’s lap, almost too dazed to cry at the strange faces 
about her, as the officers’ wives crowded around, and yet 
she looked every inch a little lady, for blood will 
show. 

“ It had been a strange, eventful Christmas Day, and 
the Colonel and his wife sat up late that night discussing 
the future of the two children, same in age and name. 
Mrs. Hartwell, having become attached to Kiamush in 
these weeks of teaching her and caring for her, wished to 
adopt her, but the Colonel w^as opposed to it, for he felt 
very bitter at the thought of her having so long sup¬ 
planted his own child. Still his child could speak no 
English, and the little half-breed could speak both lan¬ 
guages to a certain extent, and therefore would be a great 
help as an interpreter. 

“They felt, however, that they need not decide that 
night. 

“ Before midnight a heavy snow-storm set in, and the 
drifts piled up about the fort, and towards morning the 
thermometer fell rapidly. The next day it was found 
that the old nurse was missing, although her door had 
been locked on the outside, yet she had escaped. Her 
window was open, and there was a print beneath where 
the poor, frightened creature had jumped into the snow ; 
and then here and there, off towards the direction of 
the forest a few struggling footprints, which had 
not been effaced by the drifts. A search was made, 
the tracks were followed, and by noon the dead, frozen 
body was found partially buried beneath a snow-drift. 
Thus the question of punishment for her, and the ques¬ 
tion as to retaining the Indian child, were settled by a 
Higher Power. 


THE COLONEL’S DAUGHTER. 


139 


“ The little Indian was christened by the name she had 
always borne, ‘ Kiamush ; ’ and now Mrs. Hartwell found 
heart and hands more than full with the care of two chil¬ 
dren so utterly diverse in character. 

‘ ‘ The blue-eyed child could not speak her native lan¬ 
guage, and had had the bringing up of a savage; the 
dusky, dark-eyed Kiamush, who bid fair to rival the 
fabled ‘ Minnehaha ’ in beauty, could speak the language 
of both parents, but seemed to have inherited the char¬ 
acter of some bold Indian chieftain. No ordinary woman 
could have filled Mrs. Hartwell’s position ; but love, com¬ 
bined with that gentle firmness which always commands 
respect, conquered ; and at fourteen no more beautiful or 
well-behaved children could be found in the camp than 
4 Colonel Hartwell’s twins,’ as they were called. 

“The little Indian was the mother’s favorite, partly 
because the Colonel was so fond of his own beautiful 
child, and partly because she was such an interesting 
psychological study. 

“ She seemed to be forced to live more than the dual 
life of flesh warring against the spirit; hers seemed to be 
a quadruple existence. There was the animal life of the 
Indian and its spiritual superstitions; ever antagonistic 
to the mentality and spirituality which she inherited from 
her white ancestors ; and the education she received never 
wholly obliterated the diverse influences from her soul. 
There was at times an uncontrollable desire for the free 
life of the forest, for hunting, roving and other unfeminine 
pursuits. But her devotion to the mother of her adoption, 
and to the child who came to her the first Christmas in 
her remembrance, never faltered. 

‘ ‘ At eighteen they returned from boarding-school to 
Fort Snelling, where their father was then stationed, and 
immediately became the belles of the regiment. Tieuten- 


140 THE COEONEE’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 

ant Lennox and his brother, Captain Albert Lennox, 
were the favored suitors for the hands of the ‘ twins. ’ 

“ When the Captain asked the brilliant, dark-eyed 
Kiatnush to marry him, she replied proudly, with flash¬ 
ing eyes: 

“‘lam not the Colonel’s daughter, and I am prouder 
of my mother’s tribe than of my father’s ancestry ; but I 
love you and will follow you, if you are not ashamed of 
my parentage, but if you are I would scorn your offer. ’ 

* ‘ The Captain admired her more than ever after this 
outburst, for he had been sought after by the fair sex from 
his cradle upwards, and it completely captivated him to 
hear a girl say she could scorn an offer of marriage from 
him. 

“The golden-haired daughter of the Colonel, to whose 
pure mind affectation and insincerity were unknown ideas, 
and in whose thoughts always lingered a dim remem¬ 
brance of waving forests and wigwam fires, simply laid 
her hand in the Lieutenant’s and accepted him without 
asking for ‘ time to think it over on account of its being 
so sudden and unexpected.’ 

“A double wedding soon took place, with all the ele¬ 
gance the Fort could command, and the Colonel and his 
wife were congratulated on all sides upon the success of 
their beautiful daughters. And the sisters by adoption 
became sisters-in-law, but none the less continued to love 
each other devotedly. 

‘ ‘ Their little infant daughters, who came to brighten 
the regiment, one cold, snowy Christmas season, were 
each, of course, duly christened Kiamush, and the gold 
beads were put upon one, and the little coral necklace 
upon the other. 

“ In due time they entered Vassar and graduated with 
honor, and there were no two more brilliant girls in my 
class than they. 


THE SENIOR CAPTAIN’S STORY. 


141 


‘ ‘ What career lies before them in the future has not as 
yet been determined. ’ ’ 

“And now we’ll hear from Princeton,” said the 
Colonel, decisively, with a Jove-like nod of his head 
towards the Senior Captain. “Collegians are scarce in 
this crowd-” 

“You forget Vassar, Colonel,” promptly interposed 
Mr. Briggs, with a glance that plainly intimated that he 
had not forgotten Dot. 

‘ ‘ I beg a thousand pardons—I should have said ‘ among 
the men.’ I meant it. Come, Captain, it is your turn,” 
and a murmur of approbation followed as once more he 
turned to his staunch supporter—the right of his line in 
more ways than one. 

The Senior Captain twisted his moustache thought¬ 
fully, and began : 


THE SENIOR CAPTAIN’S STORY. 

“ I once attended a Christmas surprise party to 
which I wasn’t invited. If you’ll pass the Maraschino 
I’ll tell you about it, for it really was no end of fun 
to me at any rate. It was at Fort Sage. Most of you 
know the place. It was Christmas-eve, and there had 
been the usual Christmas trees and small family gather¬ 
ings at the married officers’ quarters, and a rather stiff 
egg-nogg at the mess. As I passed the quarters of 
Colonel Hume a cheery light streaming over the spectral 
snow seemed to hold out an invitation which I did not 
care to resist. There was something in the old fellow’s 
dry and bitter humor which flavored his conversation. 
Did you harbor any illusions or cherish any ideals, he 
would dispel the one and dethrone the other with a cheer- 


142 THE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 

fill alacrity which reminded one of the merry hangman 
in ‘ Quentin Durward. ’ Consequently he was much 
sought by the youngsters whose hearts had been shriv¬ 
eled in passing through the Sahara of West Point. The 
door was opened by Mrs. Lynch, relict of musician Mi¬ 
chael Lynch, who in life had tortured the trombone. 
Round and comfortable as to figure, with the frosty bloom 
of a winter apple, she smiled indulgently upon me. 

“ ‘ Is the Colonel in yet, Mrs. Lynch? ’ I asked. 

“ ‘ Indade he’s not, sor, and it’s no say in’ whin he’ll 
be; but come in and kape out of the cold, sor; ye know 
where ye’ll find the pipes and the ’baccy.’ 

“ I followed her into the Colonel’s cosy den, which 
he dignified by the name of library, and lighting a 
favorite Powhatan, with a long cane stem, I sank 
into a deep arm-chair and resigned myself to sen¬ 
suous content made up of warmth, tobacco and egg- 
nogg. I was roused from a delightful lethargy by the 
Colonel stamping the snow off his boots. As he came 
in, his jolly red face glowing, in his big buffalo coat, was 
the picture of good humor ; but a second glance showed 
the hard lines which trouble had graven deeply around 
his mouth. 

‘In the gloaming, oh, my darling,’ chirped the old 
gentleman. ‘ Musing over the coals like a true¬ 
hearted bachelor, for which nature cut you out, my 
boy ; but like many other duffers you knew better than 
the old lady, and behold the result. You forsake the fat¬ 
ted calf to browse on the husks, and that on Christmas- 
eve. Come, now’—drawing up a chair beside me, and 
filling his pipe—‘ tell the honest truth ; isn’t there a flavor 
about the husks which you don’t get in the domestic 
veal ? Marriage, my boy, is a bit of music with lots of 
variations, but somehow or other you can’t arrange them 


THE SENIOR CAPTAIN’S STORY. 


143 


so that the discords will not be heard. Gad, in old times 
they used to make hermits out of scamps; we’ve im¬ 
proved on that, we reform them by turning them into 
husbands. I haven’t a word to say against love ; it may 
be silly, but it isn’t incurable. Beside, love’s a necessary 
evil; it was nature’s first production, and she ought to 
have stopped then; but, like a great many other successful 
authors, she must try a sequel. She got too many prop¬ 
erties on her stage; tried to make a spectacular drama 
out of a two-character piece written in the only language 
which survived the Tower of Babel, with no scenery but 
the grass under foot and the trees overhead. I liked the 
original, but didn’t care for the sequel. Too much style 
and gew-gaws. 

“ ‘ Marian’s married and I sit here 
Alone and merry at forty year, 

Dipping my nose in the Gascon wine *— 

“ ‘ Speaking of wine, will you have a drink ? ’ 

“ ‘ Thanks, none for me,’ I replied. ‘ The egg-nogg was 
decidedly potent.’ 

‘ ‘ Silence fell upon us both and the Colonel seemed to 
be seeking the dead past in the rapidly-fading embers. 

“ ‘So you did* have a Marian,’ I ventured, feeling an 
uncontrollable desire to drop a tentative lead into the un¬ 
explored depths of the Colonel’s past. 

“ ‘ Yes,’ replied the Colonel. And a still longer silence 
followed. 

“ ‘ I believed it all as fondly, as blindly, as besottedly, as 
the poor dupe who went to sleep a caliph and woke up a 
pauper. One day my happiness turned all I touched, 
even the commonest things, to gold: the next the heart 
I believed priceless proved, at the sight and touch of gold, 
base metal. I beg her pardon ; she was simply a dutiful 


144 THE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


daughter. Her parents said, ‘ ‘ My child, a rich man 
wishes to marry you ; throw that heart away and be a 
woman.” Of course she obeyed them ; that’s all there 
was of it. But what’s the use of abusing women; I 
haven’t found men so much better. Did you know that 
I had a nephew of whom I grew as fond as I think one 
man can well be of another. I began to feel that fate had 
made me some amends in giving me sympathy and good 
fellowship in exchange for a dream. ’ 

‘ ‘ Here the Colonel stopped. I rather indicated than 
spoke a single word. ‘ Dead ? ’ 

“ ‘ No, worse ; a blackguard, whether alive or dead, I 
don’t know. I did all I could, but he was bound to go to 
the bad. The last thing I heard of him he had married a 
pretty girl to spoil her life I suppose. What an infernal 
muddle it all is. ’ 

‘ ‘ The door slyly opened and the rubicund countenance 
of Mrs. Lynch diffused a mellow radiance. ‘ Kurnel, I’m 
axin’ yer pardon for presuming to inthrude, but the good 
ladies have sint you an ilegant Christmas gift what’ll 
kape you warrm this bitter cold night and they laid a 
promise on me that I’d show it you before ye wint to 
bed.’ 

“ ‘ Christmas Carols and coals of fire all in a lump,’ I 
cried; 4 you undeserving sinner, you’ve been abusing 
your best friends. ’ 

‘‘‘Come along,’ he replied, ‘let’s see what it’s like. 
If it’s anything to warm the inner man we’ll take a nip.’ 

‘ ‘ Mrs. Lynch led the way with conscious pride into a 
cheerful room with a clear fire glowing in the grate and 
brightly lighted by several wax candles in old-fashioned 
silver candlesticks evidently to do honor to the gift. 
There it was, laid across the bed—a rich, bright-colored 
silk quilted coverlid, and slightly moving in the centre 


THE SENIOR CAPTAIN’S STORY. 


145 


was something white, which, as we drew near in speech¬ 
less surprise, revealed a veritable snow-flake, which might 
have drifted on the winter wind from some far-off fairy 
land. A closer inspection showed that the snow-flake 
had a chubby fist crammed into its mouth and was wink¬ 
ing contentedly at the firelight, as the Colonel and I 
stared helplessly from the apparition to one another. 

“Mrs. Lynch whispered, ‘Holy Mother of God! it’s 
an angel came to us this blessed Christmas eve.’ At this 
critical moment, as if to disclaim such lofty origin, the 
fist was slowly withdrawn, the eyes disappeared into 
innumerable puckers and the snow-flake was merged into 
a mouth which emitted a yell out of all proportion to its 
size. Mrs. Lynch made a dash for the recreant cherub, 
but the Colonel seized her roughly by the arm. 

“ ‘ Stuff and nonsense ! some trick,’ said he. ‘ Bridget, 
have you a hand in this; did you let that thing in the 
house ? Take it away this instant. ’ 

“‘Indade and it’s God’s truth I’m tellin’ you,’ she 
panted, trying to quiet the vociferous infant. ‘ When I 
left the room to call you there was not a livin’ thing in it 
savin’ the quilt, which I put on the bed wid me own 
hands ; sorra’s the day that I’d be bringin’ throuble on 
you, sor, and all that ye’ve done for me and mine.’ 

“ ‘Take it away,’ the Colonel repeated helplessly. 

“The little fellow, attracted by the buttons, for the 
Colonel had donned his best blouse in honor of the even¬ 
ing’s festivities, stretched out his chubby little hands 
with a gurgle of delight. The Colonel’s face softened. 
It wasn’t in human nature, certainly not in his, to be 
proof against that base infantile stratagem. ‘ I suppose 
they trained you to do that, you little beggar, before 
they sent you out to impose upon people—here, take it 
away.’ 

7 


146 THE COLONEL, 7 S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


“‘Where shall I take it, sor?’ whimpered Mrs. 
Bridget. 

‘ ‘ ‘ Anywhere, anywhere ! Give it to the Captain here; 
let him take it home to his wife. ’ 

“ ‘ You are very generous, but I could not think of de¬ 
priving you of such a priceless treasure,’ said I. * Now 
if you were to offer me the quilt I might be induced to 
accept. ’ 

“ You be d—d,’ he retorted, with such hearty emphasis 
that I realized that any more teasing would imperil the 
chances of the poor little waif, of whom I had already 
become a warm partisan. 

“ Bridget had, in the mean time, drawn a chair to the 
fire and, with her new-found treasure in her lap, was 
rubbing and warming his little feet. She looked up 
anxiously at the Colonel’s explosion. ‘ Only mind 
the little darlin’ stretchin’ his toes to the fire ; shure, sor, 
you will kape the poor lamb this night. It wud be bad 
luck, to say nothin’ of ingratitude to the blessed Christ, to 
turn one of His little ones away, and it the holy Christ¬ 
mas eve.’ 

“ ‘ What the devil can I do else ? 9 snapped the Colonel. 

‘ Can I put five cents in his hand and tell him to go to 
the next house ? Here, put him to bed and see that he 
doesn’t howl.’ 

‘ ‘ ‘ Howl, is it ? I am only hopin’ ye may have as swate 
a slape. My respects to ye both, gintlemin, and wishin’ 
you a Merry Christmas, and ye’ll desarve it, Kurnel, 
barrin’ your talkin’ of sendin’ the crayture away, and ye’d 
not turn out a starvin’ dog,’ and the good woman disap¬ 
peared with a suspicious moisture in her eyes. 

“The spectacle of utter content exhibited by the dire 
disturber of our peace as he triumphantly rode off on 
Mrs. Lynch’s shoulder was too much for even the Colonel’s 


THE SENIOR CAPTAIN’S STORY. 


147 


worriment, and we both laughed heartily; but with the 
closing door he turned to me with an expression of hope¬ 
less perplexity. * Nice situation, upon my soul! When 
you see the Quartermaster to-morrow, my boy, ask him 
if he will have a sign painted for my front door, Found - 
ling Asylum ! I might as well face the music ; by this 
time to-morrow T the old post gossips will have got the yarn 
in embellished form.’ 

“ ‘ Colonel,’ said I, ‘ what is your idea about this ? You 
do not suspect a trick, do you ? ’ 

“‘Np,’ he said, emphatically; ‘not in the way of a 
joke. We have our fair allowance of fools, but I think * 
not any absolute curs ; beside, what woman would lend a 
child for such a purpose ? There is no hope of any 
such solution. Some one was watching Mrs. Lynch 
through the window and slipped in as soon as she left the 
room. You see it opens into that short passage with a 
door leading to the garden. I am afraid it is a Booties’ 
baby business, and yet I do not think I have made any 
enemy sufficiently clever to devise such a revenge.’ 

‘ ‘ ‘ More likely, ’ I said, ‘ that some one, knowing that you 
have a woman’s heart under your bear’s hide, has simply 
put on you the onus of turning out a child that they were 
unable or unwilling to provide for.’ 

“ ‘ Yes, possibly some poor devil on the verge of starva¬ 
tion. Well! I suppose I must keep it until I find its 
owner. ’ 

“ ‘ Good-night, old man,’ I replied. ‘ I wish you suc¬ 
cess in your new role —Japhet in search of a father- or mo¬ 
ther, you are not particular which. At any rate you 
have a new interest in life, and I am almost tempted to 
hope that the mystery may never be cleared up. It would 
be so delightful to see your acceptance of the duties and 
responsibilities of matrimony. You are atoning nobly 


148 THE COLONEL,’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


for the crime of abusing it. Good-night, papa! good¬ 
night and a Merry Christmas to the whole family. I’ll 
look in to-morrow morning.’ Then I left abruptly, for 
there were fire-shovels, canes, pokers and umbrellas un¬ 
pleasantly handy for missile weapons. 

‘ ‘ Christmas morning came cold and clear, as it only 
comes on the great plains ; so still that nature seemed to 
have stopped breathing. Smoke floated up in a tall, ver¬ 
tical column till it blended with the clear blue, and the 
monotonous outlines of a woodless country assumed purity 
and beauty veiled in maiden white. As one officer after 
another emerged, hearty greetings and merry laughter 
rang upon the frosty air, the only Christmas bells in that 
distant region. About eleven o’clock I went to Colonel 
Hume’s quarters. Mrs. Lynch, rustling in the stiff dig¬ 
nity of her Christmas gown, opened the door and ushered 
me at once into the presence of His Majesty, who was en¬ 
throned upon the kitchen table, where he could oversee 
his realm, while his obedient hand-maiden cooked the 
Colonel’s Christmas turkey. In the corner was a branch 
from one of the few stunted evergreens which grew upon 
the reservation, set in a tub of sand and ashes and hung 
with gay-colored glass balls and strings of rock candy. 
The little fellow was literally smothered in drums and 
horses and woolly dogs, from the midst of which he crowed 
delightedly. It was evident that Mrs. Lynch had sacked 
the sutler’s store at an early hour. I am almost ashamed 
to say how much I was moved at the sight of this little 
waif brought in from cold and hunger to the warmth and 
welcome of a motherly heart, and I thought: ‘ Inasmuch 
as ye have done it unto one of the least of these.” Alas ! 
the spirit of unrest and grasping ambition had entered 
the infantile Paradise. In one of his frantic grabs at a 
woolly dog, with evident intention of sucking the paint 


THE SENIOR CAPTAIN’S STORY. 


149 


off, he grasped his own toe, and, utterly unmindful of 
feasible joys, he devoted every faculty to the task of get¬ 
ting it into his mouth, with the result of rolling over, to 
the injury of the dog, and at imminent risk of falling off 
the table. A scream, a frantic rush, and the squirming 
mass of baby and toe was rescued from its perilous posi¬ 
tion. After duly praising and patting the prodigy I went 
in search of the Colonel, pondering much over the dia¬ 
monds in rough of some natures and the delicacy and 
poetry inherent in the Irish heart. 

“As it was about 12 o’clock, I bent my steps to the 
mess, for I knew that there was high carnival there. As 
I entered, bursts of laughter punctuated a story which 
some one was telling. I found all the mess gathered 
round the Colonel, and I concluded that he had taken the 
bull by the horns and was telling the story on him¬ 
self. 

“ On the table, in the centre of the room, stood a great 
bowl of steaming apple-toddy of true Virginia make and 
flavor, for had not one of the longest-legged sons of the 
old Dominion that ever bestrode a calvary-horse mingled 
the ingredients with loving care ? On a smaller table at 
one side stood a glass bowl containing an insinuating and 
deadly punch, the work of a scion of innumerable Knick¬ 
erbockers, who brought to this far-off wilderness a flavor 
of Rockaway and Tuxedo, our swell par-excellence lieu¬ 
tenant Cortlandt, the adjutant of the post. The Colonel 
nodded pleasantly to me, and went on with his story : 

‘ Where was I ? oh, yes, I was just at the climax. The 
old woman dragged us into the bedroom to see the pres¬ 
ent ; and what do you suppose we found ? ’ here he made 
the usual dramatic pause. 

“ ‘ If the women on the post knew you as well as we 
do/ drawled Brokenborough, the tall Virginian, in his 


150 THE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


musical vernacular, ‘you found a five-gallon jug of good 
whiskey. ’ 

“ ‘To tell you the truth,’ said the Colonel, ‘ that was 
what I rather expected to find, but when we entered the 
room we were partially blinded by the combined effect of 
wax candles and the loveliest coverlid you ever laid eyes 
on.’ 

“ ‘Kind that you win at a charity bazar and give it 
b-back to be p-put up next night,’ suggested Cortlandt. 

“ ‘ Nothing of the sort,’ said the Colonel; ‘ something 
that such a graceless scamp as you need never hope to 
attain. Well, as soon as our eyes became accustomed to 
this blaze of glory, we noticed something wiggling in 
the middle of the coverlid, and as I live it was neither 
more nor less than a real, live, kicking baby.’ 

‘ ‘ ‘ Great Scott! ’ shouted the club in Gilbertian chorus. 

“ ‘ I pitched into the old woman, and she swore there 
was nothing on the bed but the quilt when she left the 
room to call me in and show me the present, and I do be¬ 
lieve that to this moment she thinks it came from above. 
I ordered her to throw it out of the window, but Bridget 
and my friend, here the Captain, begged so hard for the 
kid that I consented to give it a night’s lodging.’ 

“ ‘You old dog in the manger,’ I retorted, ‘ you felt that 
it was nothing on earth but poetic justice overtaking you 
for the way you’ve abused men whose happiness you 
envied, and you took your medicine like a little man. 

“ ‘ It’s well you did, for I’ve just come from your quar¬ 
ters, and if anybody on this earth can truly sing “I’m 
monarch of all I survey,” it’s that identical kid. Bridget 
has it seated on the kitchen-table, with the whole contents 
of the sutler’s store spread around it, and a brilliantly- 
decorated Christmas-tree in the ash can in one corner. 
She stops basting thS turkey to kiss the baby, and I am 


THE SENIOR CAPTAIN’S STORY. 


151 


afraid you will have under-done turkey and over-done 
baby for dinner. 

“The club laughed with evident enjoyment of the Col¬ 
onel’s discomfiture. 

Brokenborough said, ‘ If you don’t want him, Colonel, 
you can turn him over to the base-ball club for a mascot.’ 

‘ Give him to me,’ said Courtland ; ‘I’ll make at-tiger 
of him one of these days.’’ 

“ ‘ Gentlemen, said old Paddy Byrne, the jolliest Irish¬ 
man in the service, ‘ you’re treating this event with undue 
levity. It’s a momentous step in the career of my distin¬ 
guished friend, and there’s fine precedents for it. Didn’t 
the Emperor Napoleon, when he was just as good as a bach¬ 
elor, adopt Prince Eugene? I’m sincerely glad that this 
Maverick has turned up to occupy a corner in the heart 
that’s intirely too large for the proprietor all by himself. 
May it grow up to be the prop of his declining years. 
Gentlemen, we drink the health of Colonel Hume and his 
adopted son.’ 

“After this the fun became general and the Colonel 
was given a respite. 

“ ‘ Come,’ he said, taking me by the arm, ‘ let us go to 
the house and see if there’s any prospect of solving this 
mystery.’ 

“When we reached the door, Mrs. Lynch rushed out 
to meet us. ‘ Oh, Kurnel!’ she fairly screamed, ‘ I’ve 
found her !’ 

“ ‘The devil you have !’ he replied. ‘Twin sister, I 
suppose. With your peculiar talent for finding babies, 
Bridget, the whole family will be here before morning. 
The fellow who takes rabbits out of his hat was a duffer to 
you ; how do you manage it ?’ 

“ ‘ How you will be talkin’, sor ; I mane the mother, 
and a fine, dacint woman she is, and she was starvin’, and 


152 THE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 

she could get a place barrin’ that she had the baby, and 
so-’ 

“ ‘ Well, well, come in and finish your story ; it is too 
cold to be standing outside, ’ and he led her to the warmth 
and comfort of the library. ‘ Now, tell us how you found 
her, what she has to say for herself, and why she brought 
it here. ’ 

“ ‘ Well, sor, ye know I’d not be likin’ to lave it long 
for fear of itshurtin’ itself, but I just stepped across the 
way to Mrs. Redmond’s to borrow from the cook a little 
spice for me puddin’. Whin I come back, there was this 
young woman down on her knees sobbin’ over the baby 
and smudderin’ it wid kisses, and talkin’ wild like, and 
callin’ down all the blessin’s of heavin on thim that had 
tuk pitty on her baby, and threated it like it was their own. ’ 

“ ‘ I see it all, Bridget; you need tell me no more. You 
got up and looked at each other and then fell to hugging 
the baby.’ 

“ ‘Not at all, sor ; I was for orderin’ her out o’ the 
house, but she stud up on her feet and looked me in the 
face, and there was somethin’ about her, sor,—not that she 
was well dressed, but somethin’—you’ll understand, sor, 
—that told me she had seen better days. ’ 

“ ‘ I would like to see her,’ said the Colonel. ‘ Can’t 
you get her to come in and tell me her story ?’ 

“ ‘ I’m afraid, sor, that it’ll frighten her away, and if 
she goes off in this bither cold weather, she will be dead 
before momin’—she’s that wake and miserable.’ 

‘ 4 ‘ Bless my soul! ’ exclaimed the Colonel; ‘ I must go 
and see her. Go ahead, Bridget; but I am afraid it is 
too late ; she must have heard us talking. ’ 

‘ ‘ ‘ Niver you mind that, sor. I slipped the key in me 
pocket, whin I came in the house, and she’ll not get out 
of the window, and she barely able to stand.’ 

“The Colonel followed Bridget, but as he approached 


THE SENIOR CAPTAIN’S STORY. 


153 


I heard a faint scream, and a woman dashed past him, 
evidently making for the front door. Seeing me, she 
stopped with the helpless look of a hunted animal, her 
feet seemed to give way, and she fell into the nearest chair 
and endeavoring to hide her face. The glimpse I had 
showed a figure tall and well made, but painfully thin. 
Her face, when she finally raised it—well, I can’t describe 
a woman, but if any of you have ever seen the Beatrice, 
—I don’t mean the smiling damsel of the copies, who 
has put on a coquettish turban for a masquerade, but the 
soul-haunting picture of Guido—that face in which grief 
has crushed out the beauty—you can fancy what she 
looked like. The Colonel came in, evidently at his wits’ 
end, but when he saw that face the grand old fellow 
showed of what stuff he was made. I wish some of the 
women who think him only a bear could have seen him. 
He spoke to her as gently as if she had been his own 
daughter, come home after long and weary wanderings; 
and as she looked up at him, she seemed to read the 
true goodness and tenderness of his heart, for she made 
an effort to rise and speak. But he laid a kind hand upon 
her, saying, ‘ Why do you wish to run away from us ? 
We are your friends here. Come, tell me all about your¬ 
self, and how you came to be in such trouble. Bridget 
bring a glass of wine and biscuit, ’ and wheeling her chair 
up to the fire, he made her drink the wine ; then placing 
himself beside her, he waited patiently till she had 
strength to speak. 

“ ‘Oh, sir,’ she said, raising her tearful eyes to him, 

‘ what can I say, to thank you and bless you for your 
goodness i I had only meant to steal in and give my poor 
baby one last kiss ; but the sight of his happiness, and all 
that this good woman had done for him, overcame me 
entirely, for, as you see, I am not very strong. 

7* 


154 THE COEONEE’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


‘“I had lost my husband, I was without a cent, and I 
could get no work, burdened with the young child. No 
one wants a woman with a baby. In my distress, not 
knowing where to turn, I remembered my mother’s 
words : ‘ If you ever need a friend go to Colonel Hume, 
tell him frankly whose daughter you are, and though I 
wronged him bitterly, he loved me as only such men can 
love, and will cherish no unkindness to the dead. ’ 

“ ‘ Then you are poor Mary’s daughter.’ The old Col¬ 
onel’s lip trembled, and he took the poor, thin hand in his 
and lifted it reverentially to his lips. ‘ My dear, ’ he said, 

‘ I never loved but one woman, and her daughter cannot 
want a home or friend while I live—and who was your 
husband ?’ 

“ ‘ I married against my parents’ will, and a short time 
after my father had money troubles, his health gave way, 
he died and we were left penniless. My mother did not 
long survive him, and after her death my husband was 
more and more unfortunate, and in his misery he sought 
the worst of all consolations ; one thing after another was 
sold or pawned, until nothing was left. He finally en¬ 
listed, and died soon after he got to this post. I have 
some skill as an artist, and managed to get together 
enough to come to him when I heard of his illness. He 
died before I reached here. The rest you know. Can 
you forgive the mad step I took, and think of me as a 
woman who had but one ray of hope on earth and blindly 
followed it ? ’ 

“ ‘ Your husband enlisted as a private in the —th ; and 
what was his name ? ’ asked the Colonel. 

‘ ‘ She answered, with evident reluctance : ‘ Arthur 
Hume.’ 

“ ‘ Great Heavens ! my unfortunate nephew ! ’ 

“ ‘ I knowhow badly you thought of him,’ she pleaded, 


the senior captain’s story. 


155 


‘ but indeed he was never unkind to me when he was 
sober. ’ 

“ Poor girl, what a pitiful revelation lay beneath those 
words! 

I’ll say nothing hard of him now,’ said the Colonel 
gently, ‘ but I will hope, Marie, that your boy may fill in 
both of our hearts the place of those we have loved and 
lost ’ 

‘ ‘ At this moment Mrs. Lynch re-entered, bearing the 
baby in her arms. Marie rose and clasped him tightly 
to her breast. 

“ ‘ Never more to part, dear little one,’ she said ; ‘ we 
have found some one to love us.’ 

“ ‘ Yes, my dear niece,’ replied the Colonel, ‘ this must 
be your home always.’ 

“ ‘ Oh, uncle, that would be too much of a burden for 
you, a baby in the house. We will live near you, and I 
can work. ’ 

“ ‘ No, no, my dear,’ said Colonel Hume, stroking the 
baby’s cheek ; ‘ you gave him to me and you cannot take 
him back. This little child has brought again to me the 
happy days of youth and love. He has found his way to 
my old heart, and it shall be his as long as I live. Cap¬ 
tain, bring your good wife over this evening, and we will 
have a happy Christmas, and you shall see how diligently 
the old bachelor will make up for all the years of happi¬ 
ness he has lost.’ ” 

And then, with the “ sma’ hours ” beginning to grow 
anything but wee, the tireless party turned on the sol¬ 
dier who sat at the place of honor at the right of the 
Colonel’s wife. No one could think of going home 
without a story from his lips. He had told not a few, 
but each was fresh, new, quainter even than its prede¬ 
cessor, full of the oddest, brightest thoughts and sim- 


156 THE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


iles, bubbling over with a humor inexhaustible as the 
famous spring of Rhenish Prussia, and to the full as 
cool and sparkling. It was useless for him to beg off. 
He might have known they would not go without 


THE COLONEL’S STORY; OR, ORRIKER’S EARRINGS. 

‘ ‘ Probably none of you ever met lieutenant Orriker ? 

I believe he was before your time.’ ’ 

“ Never heard of him, Colonel.” 

This was said by the Assistant Post-Surgeon, in whose 
direction the Colonel happened to be looking. Then 
recollecting he was in his first year of service, the Assist¬ 
ant blushed violently and resolved he would not be be¬ 
trayed into another word no matter what turned up. 

“Well, Orriker resigned years ago. He was an old 
crony of mine, and what I am going to tell you is a bit of 
genuine history.” 

Between ourselves, the incident was entirely of home 
production, but a modest man talks more freely about 
his neighbors than himself, so the Colonel took refuge 
behind a personality only to be found in very old army 
recollections. 

Just here, however, the Colonel’s wife, who wore a light 
scarf upon her shoulders, folded this rather hastily over 
her head, and the Quartermaster, who knew something 
of drafts, got up and closed the door behind the madam, 
for which he was rewarded with a smile that had in it, he 
thought, as much amusement as thanks. And the As¬ 
sistant-Surgeon looked grimly on and said to himself, 
“Ah, ha ! she is a bit of a coquette still.” 

This little confusion over, the Colonel began : 

‘ ‘ It certainly was a singular ornament that attracted 


the coeonee’s story. 


157 


the attention of Lieutenant Orriker as he passed the win¬ 
dow—only a pair of earrings—but of such a curious make 
that another look was inevitable, and then another, until 
the conviction arose that those earrings were of no com¬ 
mon origin or associations. 

“The pen that Tennyson uses, or the telescope that 
Wellington held, may readily be supposed to acquire 
some subtile atmosphere of their own that could strengthen 
the poet’s or the soldier’s eye and help him to visions and 
combinations beyond ordinary reach ; nor was the savage 
altogether wrong who desired to dine on his rival’s heart 
in order that he might secure some portion of his rival’s 
courage. 

“So in the sparkle of these earrings the Lieutenant 
seemed to see, as in a magic glass, the graceful forms and 
draperies of foreign lands moving to strange melodies, 
and even to him out there on the street came a faint fra¬ 
grance of incense and spices that belonged rather to Ara¬ 
bian than New England nights. 

‘ ‘ In his walk the next morning he suddenly found 
himself looking into the window as before, but the ear¬ 
rings were gone, and he began to realize what an impres¬ 
sion they had made, and how much he wanted them. 

“ For he had found out that a certain birthday was not 
far off which called for agreeable notice, and where selec¬ 
tion was difficult it was wise to begin early. 

“ Nothing declared itself that had a tithe of the fascina¬ 
tion of those earrings, and apparently he had lost them 
by his delay. 

‘ * A day or two passed, and again the Lieutenant stood 
at the window, and there they were in the comer, half 
covered by newer and far more conventional jewelry. The 
opportunity, so strangely recovered, as the Lieutenant 
thought, was not to be resisted, and they were secured, 


158 THE COEONEE’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 

notwithstanding what looked like reluctance on the part 
of the salesman to let them go. 

‘ ‘ The conversation brought out a fear that they would 
not be likely to suit, ‘ they were very old-fashioned, ’ etc., 
etc., and the inference was permitted that they were 
no part of the stock imported from the metropolis to 
do credit to modern taste, but a parcel left for disposal 
that had become necessary, rather than coveted. 

“Truly they resembled all choice works of nature or 
of art in that the longer you looked at them the larger 
they grew, reaching out into the unlimited and ineffa¬ 
ble, as if the matter ordinarily there was only a part of 
finer existences, ever declaring themselves in wholes 
more and more complete. 

“We have been told, on very good authority, to go to 
the ant, learn of her and be wise, wisdom evidently per¬ 
taining to the female in case of this particular insect. But 
the ant lays up a good deal she does not need, and men 
are just as foolish. 

‘ ‘ The earrings had been gained, the birthday came, but 
love’s young dream had dissolved and left no use for the 
trinket, which catastrophe belongeth not to this story. 

‘ ‘ Suffice it to say that the earrings were temporarily 
loaned to a sympathizing cousin, who was to take care of 
them till wanted, if, in the future, another vision should 
materialize and remain constant long enough for a birth¬ 
day to put in an appearance. ’ ’ 

Here the Colonel’s wife filled up his glass as a deli¬ 
cate intimation that he was getting too morose for a 
mixed audience. 

“Thank you, my dear,” said the Colonel; “I was a 
little melancholy, thinking of poor Orriker.” Then the 
Colonel went on : “ Coming home from church one day, 
Cousin Cornelia, to her horror, discovered that one ear- 


THE COLONELS STORY. 


159 


ring was missing. Oh, it was in the bonnet—it may be 
on the table—it might have been dropped in the hall—it 
could have fallen by the steps —it must be in the pew— 
certainly. 

“ But the search, notwithstanding its thoroughness 
deserved success, was unavailing, which was quite vexa¬ 
tious, for Cousin Orriker really seemed in a fair way to 
find further use for his investment. 

‘ ‘ When told of the loss, he determined to recover the 
earring, being one of those men who only get inter¬ 
ested in impossibilities, he hunted sidewalk, street and 
aisle, the search becoming occupation for any odd mo¬ 
ment left over from guard-mounting and drill, which, in 
those days, as later, formed the whole duty of the sub¬ 
altern. 

‘ ‘ But the earring remained a mystery, like the tomb of 
Moses, till some time afterwards the Lieutenant found 
himself on the ferry-boat, thinking of the Seminole war 
and looking at a lady. Although she was not exactly 
opposite him, yet his eye traveled back to her with a per¬ 
tinacity that was annoying, and not to be accounted for by 
anything peculiar in ribbons or complexion, when at last 
he actually caught a glimpse of the earring upon her 
bosom. 

“ It was a delicate matter to pursue, and he was re¬ 
duced to such investigation as he could make in a tour of 
the cabin, up and down, with his discovery as the objec¬ 
tive-point. 

“ Sure enough, there it was,—a gold sphere, swinging 
in a crescent, with a tiny gold star as pendant, and the 
curious inlaid arabesque along both crescent and sphere, 
dotted with ruby and diamond-dust. 

“ But it was mounted as the head of a shawl-pin, and 
that, apparently, was its original shape. 


160 THE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 

‘ ‘ Orriker determined to locate the bearer, but she went 
to the railway-rooms and passed the gate at once to the 
cars. 

“The Lieutenant gallantly cut his military duties for 
that afternoon, bought a ticket, as soon as he could, for 
the nearest outside station on a venture. He was barely 
in time for a train which he searched closely without 
flushing his game, and upon inquiry learned that an 
‘ express ’ preceded the ‘ local ’ by a minute or so, mak¬ 
ing its first stop too far out to admit of further pur¬ 
suit. 

‘ ‘ He had the pleasure of a wait-over at East Essex 
three hours or so for the down train, and did not improve 
the opportunity by any exhaustive study of the adver¬ 
tisement-boards, like the traveler way-bound at Didcot 
Junction, who, it will be remembered, became so inter¬ 
ested in the etymological possibilities of Edward Chap¬ 
man Allington, and developed therefrom a long chroni¬ 
cle of English history, as my audience under like cir¬ 
cumstances are earnestly advised to do. 

“The Lieutenant had some trouble in making his 
peace with the post commander, to whom he had been 
reported absent, and who, he felt, was too old a soldier 
to take any stock in argonaut expeditions in these days 
of schedules and clocks and subsidy steamers. He con¬ 
cluded to take the matter up logically. His adventure 
began with the i p.m. ferry-boat. The lady evi¬ 
dently was traveling on a season ticket; a reason for 
taking the 2 p.m. train on one Wednesday might hold 
good for another. He would be on hand accordingly. 

“ So he was often, and with no reward. Looking up, 
however, from a brown study at a sudden stop of the 
street-car one morning, there, right beside him, he saw 
again the sparkle of the earring. 


THE COEONEb’S STORY. 


161 


“ At least so it seemed. Sphere, crescent, star, scroll 
and all were visible enough, but unfortunately on the 
bosom of a very different woman. He had made no cata¬ 
logue of the features of the first, but certainly she was a 
Saxon, while his present neighbor as certainly belonged 
to the order of the olive. It seemed useless to follow up 
the clue. There must be many individual ornaments of 
the same type and he had the proof of it before him. 

“So the lieutenant took himself to the oldest jewelry 
establishment within his reach, left the odd earring to be 
made into a charm for his watch-chain and encouraged 
conversation on the subject. Mr. Goldsmith examined 
the specimen closely and became very much interested in 
it, pronounced it unique and said nothing of the sort had 
been on the market within his recollection ; that, in fact, 
it was totally opposed to current styles and properly be¬ 
longed, not to a modern ear, but to the-Museum. 

“In this conclusion the Lieutenant recognized the 
trade-mark and resolved to get back his earring if it took 
him to Africa. He would put the quest on as high a 
footing as the San Grael itself and prosecute it in single¬ 
ness of heart without a thought of tactics, Tampa Bay or 
trial by court-martial. 

“Every Wednesday afternoon found him at the depot 
with a fixed purpose to follow, though 

“ ‘ His path was rugged and sore, 

Through tangled juniper, beds of reeds, 

Through many a fen where the serpent feeds, 

And man never trod before.’ 

“ But it was a waste of time. His ticket for East Es¬ 
sex, good until used, was as unprofitable an investment 
as Lamon’s ‘ Life of Lincoln ’ or the ‘ Military Encyclo¬ 
pedia. * 


162 THE COEONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 

“It came to pass, however, that the Lieutenant, in 
walking up Willington Street some days afterwards, met 
an open gate which he kicked to rather unceremoniously 
just as an elderly lady appeared on the steps beyond and 
started down the walk. She seemed quite feeble, and the 
Lieutenant, afraid that, in his violence, he had thrust the 
gate over its natural limit, pulled it back again with con¬ 
siderable trouble. He had not, therefore, noticed that 
meantime she had been joined by a much younger person 
until, as they passed out together, suddenly the shawl- 
pin flashed into view in the dress of the latter, but as¬ 
suredly under a face that he had never yet seen. 

“Now some faces grow upon you like the contents of 
a walnut, which are the reward only of the most search¬ 
ing examination. And some faces show all they have at 
once, like a bunch of grapes, and some resemble persim¬ 
mons, that are never sweet until after a touch of frost, and 
give as little promise in the beginning of the result as a 
California nugget offers of one of Cellini’s medallions. 

‘ ‘ Orriker was getting to be quite a connoisseur in phys¬ 
iognomy, and his interest in the shawl-pin was almost 
eclipsed by his sudden wonder who could own those eyes, 

“ ‘ Darker than the depth 
Of water stilled at even.’ 

“ This appearance, too, of no less than three shawl-pins, 
all of them composed apparently of the lost ear-ring, could 
only suggest to the baffled Lieutenant uneasy suspicions 
of monomania. Was it not really getting to be the case 
that he was projecting an ideal object of search into an 
objective existence upon the bosom of every lady that he 
met? 

“Not a little stunned by this last encounter and re¬ 
volving the problem of entire ownership of his wits, he 


the cotonee’s story. 


163 


had gone some distance before he recollected that it might 
be useful to mark down the locality of this last surprise. 

He turned back and was confronted by a new puzzle. 
There were no less than three houses all with like fronts, 
like paths and like gates on the same side of the street, 
and lieutenant Orriker, more than ever convinced that 
for him all roads were leading to Bloomingdale, went 
home to get among friends and prepare for the worst. 

“By a night’s sleep he was greatly refreshed and a 
thorough wigging he received from his captain for failure 
to sign up the clothing-book gave him much comfort. 
He was enabled to orient himself and get a sure hold upon 
his identity. 

“ He proceeded to distribute a score or so of autographs 
over the company records with as much self-reliance as 
‘ Charles Carroll of Carrollton ’ felt when he signed an 
earlier and quite as valuable a document. Satisfied then 
that life was not an illusion nor his sanity a dream in 
spite of the three shawl-pins, he went into the necessary 
inquiries as to the occupants of Willington Street, but 
only to be persuaded that the two ladies he had met bore 
no relation to any of the houses in question except that 
of visitors. 

“Nothing that answered his description of the pair 
could be developed as properly belonging to that neigh¬ 
borhood. Perhaps he was too oblivious of the fact that 
beauty, like the prophets, is without honor in its own 
country, and that everybody makes for himself his rain¬ 
bows, and beauxyeux as well. 

‘ ‘ But during the campaign he one day stepped into the 
local Dorian’s to get something to eat. Looking about in 
the unpleasant quarter-of-an-hour that preludes the com¬ 
position of your order, he suddenly lost all appetite in the 
endeavor to comprehend that but a few feet from him 


164 THE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


were seated all three of the Graces. The longer he looked 
the more certain he was, not only of the passenger on the 
ferry-boat, but also of his neighbor in the street-car, and, 
above all, the angel by the gate. 

‘ ‘ Here they were seated at the same table, finishing their 
lunch, but apparently in no hurry. Devoutly did the 
Lieutenant pray for haste in his own case, and delay in 
theirs, like the parishioners on opposite sides of the county 
who wanted rain and dry weather in the same week. 

“ Finally they gathered up their gloves and wrappings 
and a few minor parcels, and it then became evident that 
one thing was lacking—truly the key to the whole posi¬ 
tion. Nowhere was visible the shawl-pin—not a trace of 
it on the person of any of the three. 

“Nevertheless, he was sure of the faces, and as they 
got up to go, the Lieutenant bolted from the premises and 
awaited them at the curb. 

“Just then the waiter appeared with an anxious face, 
somewhat relieved at sight of his customer, who was do¬ 
ing considerable thinking to the minute. 

‘ ‘ His first impulse was to toss the boy a dollar under 
plea of a forgotten engagement. But in that view of the 
case it was impossible to wait upon the convenience of the 
ladies, who were leisurely talking to one another, as those 
who had the whole day before them. 

“ Orriker nodded to John, and said : ‘ All right, I’ll be 
there in a momentbut John seemed suspicious, and 
remained on guard ready for emergencies. The situation 
was getting to be noticeable and had to be terminated. 
Clearly he had no warrant for introducing himself. 
American etiquette, though without its Brummell or 
court-guide, does not permit a gentleman to accost a 
group of girls, simply because of 

“ ‘ Eyes that do mislead the morn,’ 


THE COLONEL’S STORY. 


165 


or inferences based upon the supposed possession of curious 
jewelry. 

‘ ‘ The ladies passed out of sight round the corner, and 
the Lieutenant went back to his chops and tomato sauce. 

‘ ‘ Making his way to the table previously occupied by 
the three fair strangers, and, astonished to find that 
instead of marble, it was the plainest of pine, now they 
had gone, he saw on one of the chairs a small parcel, 
which he picked up and again rushed to the street, while 
the waiter, turning in time to see this second hegira, fol¬ 
lowed him with a frantic ‘ Hold on, there P that brought 
matters to a crisis. 

‘ ‘ To make a first appearance in the highest circles of 
society as a fugitive from culinary complications, enforced 
by an irate youth in a white apron, was not to be endured. 

4 ‘ The Lieutenant pocketed for the present both parcel 
and affront, brought back to his lunch the absent air of a 
man much pre-occupied by business engagements, hung 
up his hat with great deliberation and enlarged his order 
to include a dessert and a pint of champagne, in order that 
the establishment might be properly impressed with the 
ways usual to him when he had time to spare. 

“ In fact he devoted the next hour in toying with his 
meat and sipping the cider. Then he handed the waiter 
a three-dollar bill, ignored the change as proof that he 
owned more money than he knew what to do with, and 
departed, having only succeeded in convincing the pro¬ 
prietor of this particular resort that he was a man to be 
kept under the closest observation hereafter. 

“Meanwhile the ladies had resumed their shopping. 
As a matter of course, a soda-water fountain came in their 
way, and there being an hour still to wait, they decided 
to spend it in a photograph-gallery, so reaching the rail¬ 
road-station just in time for the 4 o’clock express. 


166 THE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 

‘‘But now the loss of the parcel was first discovered, 
with mutual exclamations of surprise and alarm. Each 
was sure the other had it, and ihere was the familiar search 
of pockets and reticules. ‘ Oh ! here it is !—no—I remem¬ 
ber now—this is it—where can it be ?’ 

“ Train or parcel, which ? The result was, apparently, 
a change of programme—Miss Louise to go to the gallery, 
Miss Mary to the soda-water man, and Miss Jane to the 
store, all to meet at the lunch-rooms, as they all duly did, 
with no success. 

“After a brief discussion the proprietor and his assistant, 
recollecting all that happened, declared their belief that 
the young fellow with the three-dollar bill and the new 
moustache was responsible for the trouble, on the satisfac¬ 
tory ground that if two odd things occur in the course of 
an hour, one must be the cause of the other. 

“ Now follows a strange thing. Lieutenant Orriker had 
been looking for an earring, and in a few days had found 
at least three; but here were six people hunting one an¬ 
other : the waiter and Dorlon after the young fellow with 
the new moustache; the ladies carefully scrutinizing 
every wearer of that appendage, and Orriker himself 
patiently devoting his leisure to the pursuit of the pretty 
girl with the blue eyes, the beautiful girl with the black 
eyes and that rare epitome of everything lovely, with 
eyes that beggared Solomon’s Song, deeper than the 
speculations of Plato, darker than the iambics of Ly- 
cophron, sweeter than the strains of the great god Pan, 
when 

“ ‘ The sun on the hill forgot to die 

And the lilies revived, and the dragon-fly 
Came back to dream on the river,* 

and all in vain. 

“The Lieutenant had visited the railway station, 


THE COLONEL’S STORY. 


167 


coming, of course, by one door as the girls left by the 
other. Soda water and photographs were peculiarities of 
feminine interest that had so far escaped his analysis, 
and as for the lunch-rooms, he was creditably fighting 
the doubt whether he could ever redeem his self-respect 
without cuffing that waiter into some appreciation of 
what a United States Army officer really was. 

‘ ‘ But the astonishment of the Lieutenant may be im¬ 
agined when, on opening the parcel, he found—the shawl- 
pin itself! 

“ It was, in every particular, the duplicate of the ear¬ 
ring now swinging upon his watch-chain, and had evi¬ 
dently been modified from its original purpose to use as 
a pin, with slight additions, that had recently undergone 
repair. 

“The box into which it had been put bore no name, 
nor was there any trace of ownership upon the wrapper 
save a delicate reminiscence of wild-flowers that subse¬ 
quently became very familiar to Lieutenant Orriker. ’ ’ 

It was at this stage of the story that the Adjutant 
winked at the Quartermaster’s wife, who filliped back a 
crumb of bread with such accuracy that it knocked off 
the Assistant-Surgeon’s eye-glasses, which he duly re¬ 
membered in the very next prescription he compounded 
for that persistent invalid. 

“ The discussion over the loss of the parcel,” continued 
the Colonel, “grew very interesting. Miss Mary was 
confident she had left it on the soda-water counter. Miss 
Louise recollected seeing it at the photograph gallery, 
and Miss Jane knew for a certainty that it was at one 
time lying by a box of ribbons on the end desk of the 
store. In fact, Miss Jane as often as once a week there¬ 
after made sly visits to the suspected spot, and glared 
suspiciously at the pale maiden with tan-colored braids 


168 THE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 

who was in charge, but no scarf-pin ever came into 
view. 

“It might be as well to state that Miss Jane lived in 
town. Miss Louise resided some distance out on the 
Manchester and Essex Railroad, at Palafox Park, while 
Miss Mary belonged to our side of the Potomac, but was 
visiting now with one and now with another cousin, in¬ 
cluding Miss Jane and Louise, and I don’t know how 
many more, for if, with the limited facilities afforded by 
devotion to business in the North, a Tremont Street man 
might walk from Boston to Sacramento without finding 
a relative on the road, a Roanoaker, as the result of the 
leisure and mint-juleps of the Old Dominion, could take a 
trip to the Gulf and claim kin on every plantation he 
crossed. 

“ Sure enough, Lieutenant Orriker had found the ear¬ 
ring, but no peace of mind came with it. What is sought 
for ceases to please when secured. But it was those won¬ 
derful eyes that turned night into day and made a har¬ 
vest moon as dull as a Sunday-school library or an after¬ 
noon in Alexandria. 

“ It so happened that shortly after these events an in¬ 
vitation from an adjoining town was extended to the 
troops at the station of the Lieutenant, to participate in 
the ceremonies of Inauguration Day, and he himself was 
included in the detail assigned to this amusement. 

“Beside the ride, it involved some marching and a 
dinner, as well as opportunity for a ball that was an ir¬ 
regular appendix to the main affair, out of deference to 
the instincts of the rural elector, who drew the line at 
quadrilles and the waltz, of which he knew little, so as to 
include negro minstrels, and an occasional circus, where 
he felt more at home. 

“No wine was on the table—another evidence of the 
brotherly consideration that regulates the general appetite 


THE COLONEL’S STORY. 


169 


by individual prejudice, or, in view of the ‘moral vote,’ 
sips its champagne in the closet and shuts off the beer on 
the street. 

“ Under these circumstances, the inauguration festivi¬ 
ties were not especially attractive to the military mind, 
but were patiently gone through with, like official boards 
and tooth-pulling, as part of the discipline of life. 

“ The chairman of the committee in charge of this par¬ 
ticular celebration was, however, something of a soldier 
himself. His grandfather had served in the old French 
war, and the present Major Moody felt the drum and fife 
throbbing in his own blood, and practiced the manual of 
arms up in the ancestral garret, as laid down in the tac¬ 
tics of 1812-15, having first carefully locked the door to 
prevent any intrusion upon this unhallowed sport. 

‘ ‘ He was determined that the army folks who stayed to 
dinner should understand that he had outgrown local 
superstitions, and was posted upon all professional amen¬ 
ities ; so, at the close of the parade, he touched the officers 
upon the shoulder and invited them ‘ up-stairs. ’ 

“ One or two more of the chief people, perhaps the 
most bewilderingly solemn of all that solemn throng, fell 
out and followed after, and Orriker was rather appalled, 
expecting to encounter nothing but a corpse somewhere 
aloft, for there was a tedious journey down one hallway 
and up another, past this corner and that, until they all 
filed into a spare room in the back attic, and Major Moody 
reverently lifted a napkin and disclosed half a dozen glasses 
and three decanters of whisky, brandy and Madeira. 

“‘I know something about campaigning,’ said the 
Major, ‘ and what soldiers want; just step up, gentlemen, 
and help yourselves—oh, excuse me, Captain, lieuten¬ 
ant, this is Squire Sanders, one of our old townsmen, and 
this is neighbor Pulsifer ; now, what will you take ? ’ 

8 


170 THE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


“ ‘ Thank you, Major,’ replied Captain Gilson; ‘lam 
sorry you should have taken all this trouble ; I never 
drink anything, but I shall avail myself of your hospital¬ 
ity to-day—the wine, if you please—Mr. Orriker, let me 
help you—Mr. Clute, let me fill your glass.’ 

“ Now this was a bold stroke on the part of the Cap¬ 
tain, who knew that neither of his Lieutenants, if left to 
themselves, would take a drop ; but he was determined so 
great an effort to gratify the supposed tastes of strangers 
in a strange land should not be wholly unrewarded. 

“ ‘ Come, squire, come neighbor Pulsifer, you will join 
us.’ 

“‘Why, Moody, ah, I should prefer a little of the 
brandy, but-’ 

“ ‘ We will both take brandy,’ interrupted Captain Gil¬ 
son, gallantly coming to the rescue and anxious the old 
gentleman should make the most of so rare a chance, 

‘ allow me the pleasure, ’ and four tumblers were filled 
with three good fingers of something that had been in 
the Major’s cellar from before the time of Jefferson’s em¬ 
bargo-’ ’ 

“About 1807,’’ murmured the Assistant-Surgeon to 
himself; “ how nice it would be now-” 

“ Good, Doctor ; I’m thirsty, too,” replied the Colonel, 
and, in due time, continued— 

“Well—on the return of the Heraclidae, that is, when 
Orriker went down-stairs, right in the parlor doorway he 
met the girl that had only blue eyes, beautiful, of 
course, and easier identified as Miss Jane. 

“ He was in his uniform, which would have prevented 
any recognition by her ; but there were other difficulties. 
That short mustache which so impressed the waiter, and 
by which he was handed down in chop-house annals, had 
been sacrified to a communication from the Post Adjutant, 


THE COLONEL’S STORY. 


171 


calling his attention to the predecessor of paragraph 
1662, A. R., and the Lieutenant’s face was as smooth as 
Pope’s poetry. 

“ ‘ May I speak to you one moment ? ’ said he, with the 
most academic of bows to Miss Jane ; ‘ I cannot be mis¬ 
taken, I think ; I saw you in company with two ladies at 
Mr. Pattycake’s some time ago. You left there a small 
parcel, which I found and tried to return, but was unable 
to discover you.’ 

“ ‘ I believe we left a parcel at Mr. Draper’s,’ said Miss 
Jane, gracious, but positive, and by no means averse to a 
discussion of the question with a young man who wore a 
uniform as though he had never worn anything else. 

“ ‘ Possibly, but I found it at the lunch-rooms, a.shawl- 
pin.’ 

“ ‘ Oh ! I am so glad ; we were afraid it was lost.’ 

‘“If you will be kind enough to give me your address 
I will see to its return—I am very sorry I cannot stay ; 
my company leaves on the first train-’ 

‘“And the ball?’ 

“ ‘ Oh ! that’s for Captain Gilson and Mr. Clute ; they 
remain. ’ 

“ ‘ How disagreeable—for you.’ 

“ ‘ Never regretted anything more.’ 

“ But the Lieutenant went home content. Miss Jane 
had told him the shawl-pin was Miss Mary’s. It could 
be left either in town, at 96 Willington Street, or at Pala- 
fox Park, where Miss Louise and Miss Mary were stay¬ 
ing. In fact, they were all to be together there the next 
week, and would be glad to see Mr. Orriker 'should his 
duties leave him time, as was hardly to be supposed. 

‘ ‘ Mr. Orriker was very decidedly of the opinion that 
with Palafox Park in prospect, his duties would have to 
take care of themselves, and so stated, with an emphasis 


172 THE COEONEE’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


that had not been so very visible where Willington Street 
was concerned. 

“ It might be as well to note that Miss Jane had views 
on art that were incompatible with anything more than 
toleration of young men, except so far as a uniform bright¬ 
ened up the landscape and afforded material for effective 
studies of color. 

“Miss Eouise was fond of experimenting with every 
variety of the animal, just as Majendie likes to devote his 
leisure to rabbits, and Miss Mary had serious ideas of life 
and doubted the advisability of marriage with anybody 
under a bishop. 

‘ ‘ The prospect for Orriker is by no means so roseate as 
he thinks. 

‘ 4 However, he appeared at the Park Monday morning, 
as there was no Sunday train, and Saturday afternoon 
seemed a little premature.” 

vlf v!> vL* vL» vl/ vj/ 

T *T* T T *T* "r* *7* 7* 

The Colonel shoved his chair back from the table. 
There was a general burst of expostulation, to which that 
worthy officer listened with an air of placid surprise, but 
insisted that he had taken the story to the limits of his 
own knowledge, and that he was opposed to historical 
fiction, or mixed aliment of all sorts. 

“Why, Colonel,” observed the Major, “you remind me 
of the last war.” 

“Well, Major, you are always logical, even in your 
reminiscences ; please explain. ’ ’ 

“You started out on a question of search, and you re¬ 
tire without any settlement of the issue. ’ ’ 

“ Tadies and gentlemen,” replied the Colonel, “I refer 
everybody to my wife. She knows the sequel better than 
I do. I cannot express to you how flattered I am at the 
interest you apparently feel in Orriker’s earrings. I am 


THE CORONER* S STORY. 


173 


going into the library to smoke. Those of you who pre¬ 
fer cigars can join me. Those who prefer the story will 
of course remain.” 

Now this was cruel, but for the credit of the regiment 
we are glad to be able to say that the Colonel found the 
library by no means crowded. Not a man budged except 
the Adjutant, who knew something about the brand of 
cigar the Colonel used, and would not have postponed 
the chance of one for Scheherazade herself. 

The madam conceded the Adjutant to the pecularities 
of his taste and station, and, compelled by the presence of 
the rest, took up the story : 

‘ ‘ These cousins were all well known to me, and it may 
relieve your curiosity if I say that Miss Jane abandoned 
art, at the invitation of a professor of mathematics, who 
married her, and died after working out the properties of 
a newly-discovered curve, in an equation eight hundred 
pages long. 

‘ ‘ She subsequently became the wife of a celebrated 
authority in social statistics, and is now the author of 
probably the best cook-book written, since it deals with 
exact quantities, complete rules and ordinary material. 

“ Miss Louise married a lieutenant in the navy, with a 
view of having some time to herself while he was occa¬ 
sionally earning his three years’ sea-pay, and as for Miss 
Mary—her bishop remained behind the ivory gate.” 

“In partibtis infidelium ,” murmured the Doctor. But 
the madam thought he was dreaming about some pre¬ 
scription, and so left him to his scruples and drams. 

“Nevertheless,” said she, “Lieutenant Orriker had a 
very pleasant visit at Palafox Park, judging from the 
number of times it was repeated. 

‘ ‘ The puzzling manifestations of the lost earring were 
easily explained, inasmuch as when extended into a shawl- 


174 THE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


pin it became the common property of the three cousins, 
by whom it was regarded as what is now called a mascot , 
owing to the mystery attending its first appearance. 

‘ ‘ It was found one morning at the foot of the stairway, 
near the shawl-rack and umbrella-stand. 

“ Nobody knew anything about it and nothing could be 
ascertained, so it was finally thought possible it had been 
introduced into the house by the ghost of Miss Mary’s 
godmother, who had recently died in a far-away land and 
who was reputed to have had, at least, two weaknesses, 
a fondness for Miss Mary, and a craze for collecting bijou¬ 
terie , pure and undefiled, by the methods and tastes of a 
commercial and manufacturing age, all of whose work, 
whether belonging to office or ornament, smacks of 
petroleum. 

* ‘ It was very unpleasant for Mr. Orriker to shatter any 
of the romantic ideals of Palafox Park, but he submitted 
to their investigation the charm he wore upon his watch- 
chain, and it seemed evident enough that it was the dupli¬ 
cate of the pin and with it had constituted the purchase 
formerly made by that gentleman. 

“ Nevertheless Aunt Mary—not the cousin, but a name¬ 
sake of an older generation—always affirmed that these 
same earrings had once belonged to the family, and main¬ 
tained a silence as to their history that was very provok¬ 
ing, but proof to all solicitation. 

The girls at last admitted that if the dream of the god¬ 
mother had to be given up, the Lieutenant would not be 
an altogether unsatisfactory substitute; but he was re¬ 
quired to account for the transfer by any less than super¬ 
natural means of the earring from the Barracks on the 
island to Palafox Park. 

The Lieutenant undertook the investigation, but re¬ 
solved to conduct it after the manner of Penelope, and 


THE COEONEE’S STORY. 


175 


women generally, who never finish anything in order to 
always have something to do. 

“ He very soon satisfied himself that Cousin Jane had on 
several occasions visited the island where was located the 
Church of St. Thomas-by-the-sea. This was quite a 
notorious institution for a variety of reasons. Its rector 
was young and handsome ; its patrons, wealthy and gen¬ 
erous. The harmonies in colored glass that abounded in 
its walls, the voices of singing men and singing women, 
that came down from the galleries above, or stole in upon 
you through the arches and cloisters below, the decora¬ 
tions and the embroidery on the sacred, and the milli¬ 
nery and renown on the profane side of the chancel, made 
one of the most thoroughly picturesque and attractive 
interiors to be found in the diocese. 

‘ ‘ Perhaps it was not so much a place to tempt a sinful 
man to pray for mercy as a place of restful repose, where 
one could recline upon velvet and think of his faith or for¬ 
tune, just as predominated the wail of a litany or the 
voluptuous swell of a hallelujah. 

‘ ‘Thus it happened that the aspirations of the artist and 
the taste of the musician found much satisfaction at 
Saint Thomas-by-the-sea, and so were brought together 
Cousin Jane and that Cousin Cornelia of previous mention, 
wholly unknown to and unconscious of one another then, 
though one chanced to occupy pew 31, and the other pew 
33, on the Easter Sunday of the year to which this story 
belongs. 

“ This was a mere matter of dates, which the Eieuten- 
ant quietly established, as well as the further fact that 
Cousin Mary arrived, as arranged, at Palafox Park on 
the very Sunday night in question, where she was joined 
by Cousin Jane, and where, the next morning, the ear¬ 
ring was found. 


176 THE COEONEE’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 

‘ ‘ But Mr. Orriker afterwards said he saw no reason for 
obtruding these facts, since, evening after evening, the 
cousins resolved themselves into a committee of ways and 
means upon the problem, and always preferred to accept 
the benevolent interference of the godmother, who was 
superior to any difficulties of time and space, and had no 
further use for articles that are no part of spiritual furni¬ 
ture. 

“ True, the intention was balked of its completeness by 
the absence of the other ear-ring, but one should not be 
too avaricious in dealing with the Immortals. Content 
with what they give is the condition of the process, and 
the story of the three wishes by which the peasant and 
his wife found themselves, after all, no better off than 
before, is a lesson in prayer not to be forgotten. 

“ So the girls waited, in the patience of true faith, for 
the fulfillment of the business, and they were rewarded, 
even beyond their expectations, and, as is the celestial 
manner, on a wholly different scale, which is the weak 
point of the drama of Job, where sheep, oxen, camels, 
sons and daughters are taken away to be replaced, ap¬ 
parently to the satisfaction of the patriarch, by more 
sheep, more oxen, more camels, more sons and more 
daughters. 

“ But if James die, doth George replace him ? David 
knew better when he said, ‘ Oh, Absalom, my son Absa¬ 
lom, would God I had died for thee, oh, Absalom, my 
son.’ 

‘ ‘ The earring then on one side is clearly traced to pew 
31 and Miss Jane from pew 33 to Palafox Park, where, the 
same day, the ornament is subsequently found, conveyed 
thither in some hospitable fold of the wrapping that re¬ 
ceived it on its detachment from Cousin Cornelia’s ear. 

“ Naturally at this point ends the story.” 

“I have my doubts,” said the Major, “about this last 


THE COEONEE’S STORY. 


177 


part of the business, the carriage of the earring to Pala- 
fox Park.” 

“Well,” replied the madam, “as to the probabilities 
of that I am willing they should be tested by the results 
of an accident with which you are all familiar. Did you, 
Major, ever lose a collar-button ? ” 

“ Certainly—not a week ago.” 

“Where did you find it?” 

“ It was—let me see—” Here the Major was suddenly 
seized with a violent fit of coughing. He was vigorously 
thumped on the back in that insane way people have 
when certain something must be done and ignorant of 
exactly what to do. 

In great seeming distress the Major rushed from the 
room, and in a few minutes thereafterhould have been 
seen with the Colonel, still quite red in the face, but re¬ 
lieved in mind, and placidly smoking a Reina Victoria. 

“I wonder what did become of the collar-button,” 
muttered the Assistant-Surgeon. 

But nobody ever'knew, except the Major’s man, who 
discovered it where it was never designed to be; but, as was 
said of Vespasian’s silver, recovered from a similar local¬ 
ity, non olet . 

“Perhaps,” interposed the madam, “some other gen¬ 
tleman has doubts-” 

“Certainly I could have none after my experience,” 
replied one of the younger captains. ‘ ‘ I was struggling 
with my collar-button the other morning when it sud¬ 
denly slipped out of my fingers and disappeared. 

“ I hunted everywhere, the more earnestly since I had 
no other, and was dressing against time for the early 
train to town. At last I had to content myself with a 
pin, which narrowly missed the jugular, as I wickedly 
thrust it into my shirt. 


178 THE COEONEE’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


“ But that was only a beginning of misery. My foot 
pained me all day long, and spoilt a trip among the book¬ 
stores to which I had been looking forward for a month, 
and saving up enough for the especial purpose of securing 
a two volume edition of Gen. Henry Lee’s Memoirs, with 
notes on the margin, written, as I had reason to suppose, 
by General Sumter. 

“That evening when I reached home without my 
prize, which had been disposed of just a moment before 
I hobbled into the place, I unearthed the missing button 
from the toe of my boot. 

“ I keep a card of them now stuck into the looking- 
glass.” 

“It would seem,” added the madam, “that buttons 
may be as evasive as earrings.” 

“ I feel,” interrupted one of the senior lieutenants, “I 
feel as though I ought to contribute a remark or two on 
this occasion. Like the saint who'carried his own head, 
so with the woman who unconsciously became the pos¬ 
sessor of her neighbor’s earring, it is only the first step 
that makes the trouble. Once at large, these trinkets are 
amenable neither to law nor logic. I have my doubts 
about guardian angels, but am clear as to the exist¬ 
ence of imps of depravity charged to try the tempers of 
men. The toilet and the desk are their favorite fields of 
operation. Not a pin, for instance, can be found on the 
cushion, but a trip in bare feet over the floor detects any 
number of them. 

“A memorandum suddenly disappears that you know 
you have seen but a moment before. The hunt for it 
wastes a half-hour, and, after an explosion that gives 
the devil a safe mortgage upon your soul, behold! the 
memorandum appears right before you, looking more 
innocent than a rose-bud. 


THE COLONEL’S STORY. 


179 


“I, too, have a collar-button, only one incident in the 
history of which I will give this afternoon. It vanished 
when under process of adjustment, and there was nothing 
to do but find it, unless I remained in bed, which was 
impossible, for it was the last of the month, with mus¬ 
ter and inspection pending, as well as a visit to the pay¬ 
master and a subsequent lunch with my compadre . 

‘ ‘ I am frequently complimented on my good nature 
and sagacity, and I felt these were both at stake, and re¬ 
solved to be firm and circumspect. The first thing to 
do was to undress and examine carefully each article of 
my clothing, which I did, pleasantly humming to myself: 
* We may be happy yet. ’ 

‘ ‘ It was useless, so I turned to the bed and took off 
spread, blanket and sheet, and deposited them in the 
middle of the floor, still continuing the old familiar 
strain. 

“Then I closely examined the six sides of the mat¬ 
tress, not forgetting the comers nor the melody. 

“ Giving my attention to the lighter articles of furni¬ 
ture in the vicinity, I piled them up, after examination, 
upon the mattress. Drawing my sword, I began to rake 
under the heavier pieces, but I was too tired to sing and 
out on the parade I could hear muster in progress. 

‘ ‘ My temper threatened to rise, and I felt that I must 
rely upon bodily exercise to keep down spiritual rebellion, 
so I struck up, 

“ ‘ Oh, won’t it be joyful, joyful, joyful, 

When we meet to part no more,’ 

and commenced to kick the smaller impediments about 
the room. 

“Just here the door opened and my wife appeared. 

‘ ‘ Edwin, oh, Edwin,’ she shrieked, and rushed down¬ 
stairs to send for the Doctor. Circumstances seemed to 


180 THE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


be passing beyond my control. I stuck my sword into 
the mattress, wrapped myself up in some of the drapery 
and sat down on the washstand. I ought to state here 
that I am troubled with hypercesthesia , and my wife knew 
that at this time I was living mainly upon hot water in 
the morning and sage tea at night. 

‘ ‘ Pretty soon I saw her peering anxiously over the 
banisters and I remarked in my mildest manner, ‘ Put¬ 
ting aside any incompleteness in the way of wardrobe, 
my dear Isabella, I may truthfully state that I am glad 
to see you.’ 

‘ ‘ ‘ Edwin, what is the matter ! ’ 

‘ ‘ ‘ Rest assured I am neither mad nor drunk. I have 
lost my collar-button, and am trying to find it.’ 

‘ ‘ The door-bell rang and my wife went down to dispose 
of the Doctor. She said she had an intermittent head¬ 
ache, acute pain at brief intervals over the left eyebrow. 
The Doctor advised spectacles and diet, with a cessation 
of all literary labor, which was a shrewd inference on 
his part, from the contents of the table, consisting of a 
cook-book, upon—ah—‘ How to make bread,’ and an 
order for Eord & Taylor, which the Doctor evidently mis¬ 
took for the manuscript of a novel. 

‘ ‘ He promised to send over a lotion for topical applica¬ 
tion, which he did, and my wife presented it to the cook, 
who was always having ‘ miseries, ’ and who always felt 
better after a little medicine. 

‘ ‘ When my wife came back I was putting things to 
rights. She loaned me her collar-button and I went over 
to explain my absence to the commanding officer. He 
was very grave at first, but the moment I mentioned my 
accident he broke down completely. ‘That will do,’ 
said he ; ‘ don’t say any more. I have been there my¬ 
self.’ 


THE COLONEL’S STORY. 181 

ti * 

“ Tate the next day, happening to be in the metropo¬ 
lis, I felt thirsty and went into Stewart’s to get a glass of 
iced milk. I knew I had some small change in my pocket 
and pulled out a handful of the contents to get a quarter, 
and there among keys, dimes and sea-beans—there, con¬ 
spicuously on top of everything, was my collar-button. 
That is all I have to say.’ ” 

“ May I ask a question ?” 

This came from a lieutenant who, by virtue of frequent 
detail as judge advocate, had acquired a chronic interrog¬ 
ative attitude. 

“ Certainly.” 

“ Between the morning of your adventure and the time 
of the iced—milk, had you not changed your dress ?” 

“Of course.” 

“ And you have no explanations to offer as to the be¬ 
havior of the collar-button in this transfer ?” 

“ Oh, yes ; it was maliciously at the bottom of every¬ 
thing then. ’ * 

“One moment, if you please,” said the Assistant-Sur¬ 
geon. “ If I heard rightly, you mentioned sea beans as 
part of the produce of your pocket.” 

“I did.” 

“I wish I understood why anybody should burden him¬ 
self with such things.” 

“Asa sure specific against rheumatism.” 

“ Is it possible you can believe that.” 

“All I know is that since I carried them, I have never 
had an attack.” 

But the Assistant was not an adept in cross-examina¬ 
tion. 

“Your experience, gentlemen,” interposed the madam, 
“will, I think, convince you that there was nothing im¬ 
probable in the undesigned carriage of the ear-rings from 
St. Thomas-by-the-sea to Palafox Park.” 


182 , THE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


The Judge Advocate, whose forehead ran back into his 
occiput like a glacier bisecting an Alpine slope, still suc¬ 
ceeded in maintaining as strong an appearance of judicial 
dubiety as Eord Eldon’s wig itself. 

Then the Colonel’s wife slowly unwound from her head 
the scarf which at the beginning of our story had attracted 
the kind intervention of the Quartermaster, and aroused 
the suspicions of the Assistant-Surgeon. He watched the 
operation, and thought, ‘ ‘ She still has a pretty arm, and 
likes to show it.” 

But the Judge-Advocate saw something more. Slow¬ 
ly he rose and with a profound bow said, “ Madam, I, too, 
am a believer.” 

And the Senior Eieutenant cried out, ‘ ‘ Why, these 
are the very earrings themselves.” 

And it was so. 

But the Assistant-Surgeon, finding he was equally 
wrong in both remarks and conjectures, went home and 
resolved hereafter to secure entire freedom from all emo¬ 
tion or desire and spend the rest of his life like the monks 
of Mount Athos in the search of perfection by contem¬ 
plating the pit of his stomach. 

“ Madam, before we go / would like a little informa¬ 
tion on one point.” 

This was the Chaplain, who, practiced in thinking 
by subdivisions up as high as fifteenthly, was better en¬ 
abled than most to keep a firm hold upon any verbal 
meandering. 

“I judge from something said in the early part of 
your most agreeable continuation of the Colonel’s story, 
that there is a hiatus, so to speak, in the genealogy of 
these earrings. Is it not so ? ” 

“ I’ll tell you next Christmas.” 


BY LAND AND SEA 











INTRODUCTION. 


How many a year ago was it that Harry Gringo wrote 
his “ Tales for the Marines” ? That book was one of 
the delights of our boy colony in a far Western State, 
where the only man-of-war we ever set eyes on was the 
black paddle-wheel, fourth-rate, that we then thought 
capable of blowing all England into the North Sea, and 
whose venerable hulk we still mournfully contemplate as 
one of the many illusions of our past. It was the event 
of the year when the “ Michigan” came paddling into 
port, and those of us who had read of Midshipman 
Harry, of the jaunty “Juniata,” of faithful Kit Dolphin 
and toothpick-snapping Captain Jack, swarmed about 
her wharf, hoping for a sight of somebody who would 
fill the description of either one of those vivid charac¬ 
ters. We gazed with awe upon the officers with their 
gold-laced caps, and the spruce marine sentry. We 
watched in vain for the youthful midshipmen whom we 
supposed infested every war-ship. Surely Marryat had 
told us so in a dozen books, and Harry Gringo, our 
Yankee sailor and yarn-spinner, had taught us the same 
faith. We fraternized with such of the crew as were 
disposed to be affable; and one glorious day two of 
those wonderful officers came to dine at our father’s 
house. Just didn’t the boys of the neighborhood gather 
at our corner,—for we had spread the news all over the 
i* 5 



6 


INTRODUCTION. 


ward,—and just didn’t some of them indulge in sarcastic 
comment upon our bliss, especially one young scamp 
who long since has ceased to be envious of the joys of 
dining with a brace of naval officers, since for years at a 
time he has had to do it day after day. They came— 
the conquering heroes. They dined and were immensely 
jovial and kindly. But when, after the ceremony was 
at an end and the gentlemen were smoking their cigars 
upon the veranda, and we youngsters were brought in 
and allowed speech with them, there came a shock. I 
asked the handsome, whiskered lieutenant if he knew 
Lieutenant Gringo, and he burst out laughing and said, 
“ No; he knew lots of Gringos, but no officer of that 
name.” 

“ Why, he wrote ‘ Tales for the Marines’!” I re¬ 
minded him. And the lieutenant laughed still more 
heartily, and said tales for the marines were things 
no sailor believed in; and when that paradox was 
explained, and I went and fetched the book, the kindly 
fellow took me on his knee and said he had never seen 
it before, but had heard it spoken of. 

The idea of a sailor not reading “ Tales for the 
Marines,” written by one of our own officers ! 

“ Ah,” said the lieutenant, “that is just the reason 
why. You see, we all know one another so well, and 
have heard one another’s yarns and stories so often, that 
we never have time to throw away in reading them.” 
Here was disillusion, indeed. 

Then, besides Cooper, Marryat, and Gringo, we boys 
had other favorites, and the greatest of these was Mayne 
Reid. We devoured the “Boy Hunters,” and “The 
Desert Home,” but we simply gloated over “ The White 


INTRODUCTION. 


7 


Chief,” and the " Rifle Rangers.” We wished Captain 
Reid would come our way and tell us more grand stories 
of the Mexican war. He never did; but one day there 
visited us—and we worshipped him with our eyes—a 
major whose right sleeve was empty; he had left his 
sword-arm at Molino del Rey, and with him were two 
younger officers, straight and slender, and they came to 
dine, and they, too, were jolly and kind to us. But, 
alas! they had to say they had never met “ The Rifle 
Rangers,” never knew Captain Mayne Reid, never read 
his stories. We boys thought it simply incomprehen¬ 
sible. 

Yet, just as did their brethren of the navy, the gentle¬ 
man of “ the old army” explained the matter: “ We 
hear so much of our own cramped and narrow life when 
in camp or garrison, that when we read at all we want 
to read of something else.” 

And so the stories we boys swore by and rejoiced in 
were things that soldiers and sailors alike held to be 
unworthy their attention. All very well in their way,— 
perhaps; but nobody could write anything about their 
campaigns or cruises they had not seen with their own 
eyes or heard with their own ears. Why, then, waste 
time in reading of them ? 

And yet, here in this little volume a dozen yarn-spin¬ 
ners of the sister services have told their tales, inspired 
thereto by the publisher. Long years ago he launched 
before the reading world his “ Christmas at Sea,” where 
a lot of Jack-tars sat about the ward-room table, sipped 
their wine, and each man told a story. Landsmen who 
read the little book declared their pleasure and interest, 
and last year “ The Colonel’s Christmas Dinner” gave 


8 


INTRODUCTION. 


the soldier-boys a chance, and some sailors who saw it, 
said they liked it better than their own. It simply goes 
to prove that we find more to please and less to criticise 
in stories that are not of our daily doings, and* there 
would be actually no hope for a fellow if he had no one 
but his comrades to read the tales he told. Luckily 
there are others, many others, in the broad and beautiful 
land we love. Men and women, girls and boys, in whom 
Jack at Sea and Jim on the Plains both find loyal and 
devoted friends, and foremost among these are the dear 
ones from whom sailor and soldier alike must ofttimes 
be separated by many a dreary knot or mile,—the dear 
ones to whom every detail of our lives seems of such 
unflagging interest,—who listen to our stories of service 
afloat or ashore with eagerness so flattering or with 
patience so fond. 

At their feet, therefore, we lay this little volume, filled 
with tribute gathered both “ By Land and Sea,” and in¬ 
voke first of all the sympathy of those whom it is our 
greatest joy to hail,—“ Sweethearts and Wives.” 


C. K. 


BY LAND AND SEA 


THE WARLOCK FIGHT. 

I. 

THE RECONNOISSANCE. 

“ What is the matter of one moth the more 
Singed in the candle at a summer’s end ?” 

“ Now, how much nicer this is, Will,” remarked a 
trim artillery officer to his friend as the two sat in the 
club-room at Fort Monroe, calmly smoking their cigars, 
at the end of a hard day’s work of target firing,—“ but 
what are you thinking about so hard ?” 

“ I was merely thinking, Mac, what a tale my civilian 
overcoat could unfold. Last winter, while we were 
stationed at the arsenal in Washington, every fellow in 
the class fell desperately in love with some girl or other, 
and ever since our return they are forever running up on 
short leaves; my overcoat, being comparatively new, is 
taken on every trip. Jack Villiers is probably doing the 
grand with it there at this very moment.” 

“Will, why don’t you fall in love?” 

“ In love! why, I am always in love. Every young 

9 



10 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


lady I meet seems sweeter than the last. That’s the 
trouble: one cannot concentrate under those circum¬ 
stances ; and I am afraid if I let myself go, it may be at 
the wrong time.” 

“ To-morrow will be Sunday,” replied Macnaughten, 
“ and Fielding, the admiral’s aid, is going to take a little 
party over to the Soldiers’ Home. Will not you come 
down and make it pleasant for the young lady ? He 
wants you to come because he thinks you are such a 
recluse that you will not interfere with his own little 
scheme. The young lady is going to stay only a 
month; just your limit for a flirtation; you can work up 
to almost any limit without danger.” 

“ Who is she, Mac ?” 

“ Miss Arden, from Detroit; she is down at the Hygeia 
with Mrs. Warren, the wife of a captain of the Second 
Cavalry, now in the field with General Miles.” 

“ All right; I’ll go.” 

They sat a while longer, chatting and smoking, look¬ 
ing out the while through the casemate embrasure upon 
the moat and its farther shore, and then parted. 

Will Cowan was a young man of a thoughtful turn of 
mind, studious, but fond of enjoyment, too; rather re¬ 
served in manner before strangers, yet open and generous 
when he felt at home, with a hearty laugh that was all 
his own, clear brown eyes that reflected the depth and 
tenderness of his heart, and a well-shaped mouth and 
chin, indicating his strength of character. 

The following afternoon saw the party on its way to 
the Soldiers’ Home on the steam-launch of the flagship. 
The launch was moored near the mouth of Hampton 
Creek, and the party started along on foot, Mrs. Warren 


THE WARLOCK FIGHT. 


II 


and Fielding leading, Miss Arden and Macnaughten 
close behind them, while Cowan, holding the pretty little 
daughter of Mrs. Warren by the hand, dawdled along in 
the rear, admiring the flowers and attempting to prevent 
little Isabel from cutting off their tall heads with the stick 
he had permitted her to carry. 

“ Why don’t you go with Cousin Frances ?” said the 
child, quickly perceiving whither his glances were 
directed. 

“ Because I don’t want to. I’d rather talk to you.” 

He was holding back from diffidence, yet he was 
studying the slim figure ahead. 

“ She is not beautiful,” he said to himself, “ and yet 
her eyes are a wonderful blue; that simple braid of blonde 
hair hanging from her shapely head is rather fascinating, 
and her hand is the prettiest I have ever seen. Is she 
frivolous, or merely airy fairy ?” 

During all the afternoon Cowan held himself aloof, 
and when the party returned to the hotel he felt that 
he had not done much to make it pleasant for the fair 
visitor. 

In the evening he called and found her sitting on the 
upper piazza, a closed book in her hand, gazing out upon 
the waters. 

“ A penny for your thoughts,” he said. Were they with 
the moon ? wondering if she be indeed 

“ Pale for weariness 

Of climbing heaven and gazing on the earth,— 
Wandering companionless 
Among the stars.” 


“ No. I want to ask you a question. Listen.’ 


12 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


Then she recited tenderly and sweetly the lines be¬ 
ginning,— 

“ I arise from dreams of thee 

In the first sweet sleep of night, 

When the winds are breathing low, 

And the stars are shining bright,” 

to the end. 

“ Is this said by a man or by a woman ? That is what I 
want you to tell me,” she added. 

“ By a man, of course,” he said, quietly. He was 
very thoughtful, for this seemingly trifling young maiden 
of nineteen summers had revealed herself in a new light; 
she had shown in reciting these lines a depth of feeling 
that he had not suspected. 

The office-boy approached and handed her a card, and 
Lieutenant Fielding followed close upon it. The con¬ 
versation took a more formal turn, and Cowan soon said 
good-night. 

The young people saw much of each other, and soon 
became great friends. One bright starlight evening, as 
Cowan and Miss Arden were sitting on the piazza, 
Fielding approached and said,— 

“ It is such a lovely evening, Miss Arden, I thought 
we might persuade Mrs. Warren to take a stroll with us 
on the parapet of the fort,—what do you think ?” 

“ That will be lovely, don’t you think, Mr. Cowan ? 
Will you not ask her, please, Mr. Fielding ? She is sitting 
there in the hall.” Then confidentially to Cowan, much 
to his surprise, she whispered, “ I just love to hate that 
man!” 

The party soon started, Cowan and Miss Arden on in 
front, for Cowan’s courage rose wonderfully with that last 


THE WARLOCK FIGHT. 


13 


remark of hers. Slowly they sauntered along, over the 
postern bridge, gazing in admiration upon the reflected 
stars in the moat, talking in low tones, as people do 
whose thoughts are influenced by a deeper current than 
that which is moving calmly over the surface, when sud¬ 
denly the call of the sentinel, “ Who comes there ?” with 
the rattle of his gun as he brought it down, roused them 
from their revery; but the challenge was repeated, and 
the point of the bayonet came nearer, much to the dis¬ 
comfiture of the young lady, who was beginning to be 
frightened, before Cowan could gather himself sufficiently 
to answer. 

They passed on through the postern and up the ramp 
by the flagstaff, then along the parapet until they reached 
the sally-port opposite the commanding officer’s quarters, 
when Miss Arden suddenly said,— 

“ Can we not sit down there ?” pointing to the ledge 
of cut stone overhanging the outer arch of the sally-port. 
Down they went, carefully feeling their way so as not 
to slip, for far below the dark waters of the moat beat 
warningly against the high scarp wall. 

“ See how bright it is over towards Norfolk; must be 
a fire,” said she. 

Then they talked of other things, forgetting all about 
the chaperone, who had long ago passed by above with¬ 
out observing them, supposing they were on ahead. Ten¬ 
derer grew their voices; there was little need for many 
words; each felt what the other was thinking. Upon the 
grass, close by his, lay her pretty white hand; he took 
it in his and kissed it as if he were kissing the cross. 
The little hand grew cold in his ; slowly but firmly it was 
withdrawn. 


14 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


“ Why, there is the moon, way up in the sky,” rang 
out her clear voice with assumed brightness; “ her rising 
must have been the fire we saw! Come, it is time to go 
back to the hotel.” 

So they went out through the sally-port, over the 
bridge, along the water-battery, past the light-house. 
Cowan’s serious nature influenced both, and almost 
silently they returned. They had entirely forgotten the 
chaperone, but there she was, with a very reproachful 
look upon her beautiful dark face. 

“ What became of you two ? We had a terrible time, 
for when we came back to the postern after losing you, 
we found it locked, and Mr. Fielding did not know his 
way about at all, so we had to inquire our way, and to 
our horror had to pass through ‘Ghost Alley’ to reach 
the main sally-port. Think of it!” 

She was soon appeased, however, and Cowan took his 
leave. 

So their acquaintance grew, and each found in the 
other daily new mines of golden thought and an intenser 
interest; but the scene on the parapet was never repeated, 
and Cowan felt that Miss Arden avoided being left alone 
with him, very delicately, but still effectively, and he 
noticed, too, that Fielding was much with her, and 
always dropped in when he wasn’t wanted. 

One Saturday they all went to Norfolk on the gov¬ 
ernment boat, the “General Wool,” and after visiting the 
navy-yard, had an eventful day in town, seeing the cotton- 
presses, the oyster-packing establishments, and old Saint 
Paul’s with its quaint church-yard. 

As they walked along the street in the crowd they 
passed a sun-burnt, dark-eyed gypsy woman, kneeling 


THE WARLOCK FIGHT. 


15 


down on the sidewalk, stroking the head of a little girl 
standing by her side. Cowan and Miss Arden looked 
so happily at one another as they passed that the gypsy’s 
face lit up with a kindly smile; it was so generous and 
sympathetic a smile that Cowan went back and put a 
piece of money in her hand. 

At dusk, as they approached the boat-landing to re¬ 
turn, they noticed the gypsy woman off to one side, 
beckoning to them, so they went to her. She mumbled 
some words in a low tone and gave them each a tiny vial, 
of attar of roses, singing in a soft voice, so low as to be 
scarcely heard: 


TO HIM. 

“ Love and jealousy are thine, 

With this vial take thy gall and wine.” 


TO HER. 

“ Love and pride shall be thy part, 

With the joy of love take thy pain, poor heart 1” 


TO EACH. 

« Thou canst not separate the twain,— 

Or both or none thou must retain. 

But if ever the vial broken hie, 

And incense from the fragments flow, 
Thy love to another’s heart will hie, 
And jealousy die and pride lie low. 
Yet trust thee in thy single might; 

If thy heart be pure and thy spirit right, 
Thou shalt win the warlock fight.” 


Then she vanished in the gathering darkness. 


1 6 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


II. 

SKIRMISHING. 

“ Of that face 

What shall be said,—which, like a governing star, 

Gathers and garners from all things that are 
Their silent penetrative loveliness ? 

Mrs. Arden and her daughter were sitting, one lovely 
June morning, on the piazza of the hotel at Piermont on 
the Hudson, the former doing some fancy work, wherein 
she had wonderful taste, the latter reading a book. 

Mrs. Arden was a lady of middle age, with delicate, 
refined features, and a face full of sweetness and charac¬ 
ter, reminding one continually of Raphael’s Sistine Ma¬ 
donna. She had seen much of the world and had 
profited by all her experience; beautiful, intelligent, 
always a part of society, she yet cared nothing for the 
gay world, but enjoyed life rationally. 

Miss Arden was reading “ The Parisians,” and had 
just come to the sentence,— 

“ In the history of the passions each human heart is a 
world in itself; its experience profits no others. In no 
two lives does love play the same part or bequeath the 
same record.” 

She thought a moment after reading this, and then 
said,— 

“ Little mother, I did have such a good time at Old 
Point last summer!” 

“Yes, but I shall never forgive Mrs. Warren for being 
so indifferent a chaperone ; it was outrageous to give you 
such freedom, and I am still angry with you, too.” 


THE WARLOCK FIGHT. 17 

The stage from the station drove up, and a young man 
alighted and approached the two ladies. 

“ Why, Mr. Cowan!” said Miss Arden, in surprise. 
“ My mother, Mr. Cowan. Where do you come from ?” 

“Oh, I have just been out to Vancouver Barracks 
with a batch of recruits. I have been travelling steadily 
for about two weeks, and thought I would run up to see 
you and spend a few days in the country.” 

“ But our trunks are all packed, and we are going to 
Narragansett.” 

“ How soon do you start ?” 

“ In an hour.” Then, persuasively, “ Why not come 
along ?” 

“ All right, Narragansett goes. I only ask for a little 
time to make some small purchases in the city.” 

“ We shall be very glad to have your company, Mr. 
Cowan,” said Mrs. Arden; “ but you must be worn out 
with travelling already.” 

“ Not a bit; an officer is used to that.” 

The days at Narragansett passed very pleasantly and 
all too swiftly for the lieutenant, who was fast losing 
his heart to this fair maiden, who had sprung so sud¬ 
denly, since the past summer, from girlhood into woman¬ 
hood. The Rockingham, the Casino, the beach, and the 
rocks afforded variety enough for him, so she were by. 
Yet he felt more and more every day that he was but a 
friend of the family, held aloof by unseen spirits that 
made even his growing love for her actuate him to sim¬ 
ulate a feeling of indifference. Miss Arden saw that he 
was troubled, but could not help him, for her pride de¬ 
manded much more undivided and assiduous attentions 
than he had yet paid her. 
b 


2* 


i8 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


When Mrs. Arden, therefore, decided to take her 
daughter, in the first week in August, up to the Adiron- 
dacks for awhile, Cowan did not have the courage to 
accompany them, but remained behind, a perfect picture 
of the blues, trying to calm the tempest within by taking 
daily long walks in the neighborhood. In a week, how¬ 
ever, he could endure the monotony of her absence no 
longer, so he threw aside all false pride, and joined them 
at the Prospect House at Blue Mountain Lake. 

There was plenty of amusement,—bowling, rowing on 
the lake, playing tennis, walking, dancing of an evening, 
or riding. One day after breakfast they arranged to 
play tennis, but when they met on the tennis-court near 
the hotel, Miss Arden said,— 

“ Let us walk over to Crystal Lake; it is only half an 
hour away, and they say it is so beautiful; we can play 
tennis afterward.” 

As they passed the front piazza, Mrs. Arden called 
out,— 

“ Will you be back by luncheon ?” 

“ Oh, yes,” said Cowan; “ but don’t wait for us,” he 
added, knowing well the uncertainty of all things when 
young ladies are concerned. So on they went, along 
the winding path to the Crystal Lake. How calmly it 
lay there, nestled among the hills, the water clear as 
crystal! They sat down in a row-boat hauled up there 
close to the beach. 

“ Do you see how clear it is ?” said Miss Arden, en¬ 
thusiastically. “Look at the pebbles and logs away 
down below.” 

“ Yes, it is quite a romantic spot,” said he, very calmly 
looking into the depths of her blue eyes. He was fall- 


THE WARLOCK FIGHT. 


19 


ing in love, but she was eluding him of late, and so he 
was worried. This happy being was a little too much 
like a butterfly for his serious nature. 

“ But would I have her serious ?” he thought. “ What 
would a serious butterfly be like? Would it not be 
better to let the bright butterfly nature develop to its 
utmost perfection ?” 

Suddenly she clapped her hands and cried out,— 

“ Let’s walk around it!” 

Cowan said “ Very well,” but, always feeling his re¬ 
sponsibility, he instinctively looked up the lake and saw 
that it was marshy at the far end, and might be miles 
long; then, too, the shore on the left was a vertical bluff, 
and he knew at once that they would have to walk back 
some distance from the lake, and might lose their way. 
But he was in the habit of agreeing with ladies on 
all small matters, asserting himself only on important 
points, but then very decidedly. 

“ I don’t think any one at the hotel has been around 
it,” she added; “ we’ll be the first.” 

Cowan looked at his watch; it was half-past nine. 
They followed, at first, a foot-path that led along the 
margin of the lake a short distance, and then entered 
the brush; but soon finding this very thick and difficult 
to get through, Cowan suggested that perhaps it would 
be more open on the ridge, so they climbed up there. 
But it was no improvement,—only the primeval forest, 
dead trees piled one upon another, often to a height of 
six feet or more, some newly fallen, some decayed into 
a slightly coherent dust, covered with moss. They 
clambered over them and forced their way through the 
bushes, Cowan ahead, to search out the easiest way, 


20 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


Miss Arden (who was a good walker) following, with 
her white jacket wrapped up carefully in the skirts of 
her tennis-gown to preserve its purity. After a hard 
climb they descended to the upper end of the lake, where 
the shore was low and flat, and strewn over with logs. 
There they sat down to rest on a log projecting into the 
lake, and looked down once more on the mirrored sur¬ 
face. 

“ It is now half-past eleven,” said Cowan after a time; 
“ we can either return the way we came and get back in 
time for luncheon, or we can go around, in which case 
we may be a little late, because I think we will find it a 
little farther that way.” 

“ Why, we’ll go around, of course.” 

The walk was easy for a while, so they trudged 
happily along. Suddenly Miss Arden remarked,— 

“ We are going the wrong way; the sun was behind 
us a little while ago and now it is ahead.” 

“True; but I think a ravine makes in here, and we 
will turn again when we reach the head of it. However, 
sit down here on this dead tree, and I will run back to 
see if the lake is still there; but do not move from this 
spot, little girl.” 

He soon returned, looking just a shade serious. 

“ The lake is not there,” he said. 

“Are we lost?” she whispered, turning pale. 

“ What is the matter with you ?” said he, a little 
severely, but looking earnestly on the sweet face. His 
manner gave her confidence at once. He sat down be¬ 
side her; the tree, which was completely decayed, gave 
way and they rolled over on the ground, both laughing 
heartily as they sprang up again. 


THE WARLOCK FIGHT. 


21 


“ What shall we do ?” she inquired. 

“Sail by the sun,” was the answernortheast must 
be our direction, approximately.” 

They walked on, laughing and joking, Cowan doing 
his best to entertain Miss Arden with stories, to make 
her forget the situation. Sometimes he would go on far 
ahead to pick out the way; then he would return and 
walk by her side. Up hill and down, over great heaps 
of fallen trees, through dense underwood, over rocky 
places and up steep slopes,—no footpath anywhere, only 
the Adirondack forest. 

“ Don’t you think we had better cut marks on the 
trees ?” asked Miss Arden. 

“ What for ?” said he, with mock surprise, knowing 
well her meaning, but also aware of the fact (this he 
kept entirely to himself, however), that in his tennis 
clothes he carried no pocket-knife. 

Occasionally they sat down to rest. Calmly they dis¬ 
cussed the situation: if night overtook them he was to 
build her a bower and sit up all night and watch. 

“ We will have a big camp-fire,” she exclaimed. 

He smiled; but did not tell her he had no matches. 

On they wandered, and lo! they came upon a lake. 
Could it be Crystal Lake ? They started down the 
slope, when they heard voices. 

“ A rescuing party from the hotel!” said Miss Arden. 

They called and were answered; they hallooed till 
they were hoarse, but finally the voices died away. 
They tried to get to them, but the ground was too 
marshy; twice they essayed it and sank up to their 
ankles in the mud. 

“ What shall we do now ?” said she, ruefully. 


22 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


“ Sail northeast,” he answered, laughing. 

They walked on a little way, when Miss Arden sug¬ 
gested that they follow the voices. They tried once 
more and found to their joy an old corduroy road, which 
soon brought them through the tall marsh grass to where 
it had been pushed aside by the people that called to 
them. They followed the trail through the long grass, 
crossing over the creeks on logs evidently placed there 
for that purpose, tired and hungry, for three long hours, 
when they finally reached a farm-house. 

“Was that you we heard in the woods?” said the 
farmer-boy, as he handed Miss Arden a glass of milk. 
“ Why, we thought it was the cows.” 

Half an hour more brought them home in time for a 
late dinner. Mrs. Arden and several friends sat at table 
with them, to hear them relate their adventures. 

“ Were you not afraid of snakes in that tall marsh 
grass ?” asked a young lady. 

“ I never thought of that, did you ?” turning to Cowan. 

“ Yes, and I was terribly afraid you would.” 

“ Why didn’t you say something about it ? it makes 
me creep now to think of it!” 

When Mrs. Arden and her daughter went up to their 
rooms that night, the mother remarked,— 

“ He is a splendid fellow. Not always sincere, but 
always reliable.” 

“ But I found him, little mother, remember that.” 

When Frances Arden reached her own room she un¬ 
clasped a light gold chain that was fastened about her 
neck and held it out before her; a tiny vial was dangling 
at the end. 

“ He has not breathed one word of love to me this 


THE WARLOCK FIGHT. 


23 


entire summer; and yet I think he loves me;—but no 
one seeing him with me would suspect it, he is so calm 
and composed, not a bit like a lover. He does not seem 
to love me, but rather an ideal that I represent! I will 
not be loved so !” 

The little vial fell on the rug at her feet; she gave a 
little cry and hurriedly picked it up. 

“ Suppose it had been broken!” she gasped. 

A faint odor of roses filled the air. The moon shone 
in upon her and warmed the soft colors on the cheeks 
and neck,— 

“ As down she knelt for heaven’s grace and boon.” 

III. 

THE ATTACK. 

“ Filled from the heart to the lips with love.” 

A summer evening in the Highlands, the sun shedding 
his last rays over the hills, the river moving silently 
below in the gathering twilight, the green plain lying 
peacefully between; to the north, Storm King and 
Breakneck, two giant sentinels that guard the nation’s 
eagle’s nest from the rude northern blast of winter, are 
silently reposing. 

The review is over; all is quiet on the plain; the cavalry 
detachment is marching to its barracks; all the beauty 
and the chivalry are gathered at the reception to the 
Board of Visitors, held at the superintendent’s quarters. 

“ Mr. Cowan,” said Mrs. Tracy, the wife of the super¬ 
intendent, “ come, let me present you to a young lady 
who is here on the Board with General Du Pont’s party.” 


24 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


They passed through the hall out on the veranda. 

“ Miss Arden-” began Mrs. Tracy, but she saw 

there was no necessity for any more words. Cowan was 
taken by surprise and showed it, while Miss Arden’s 
bright blue eyes had a merry twinkle in them. Cowan 
felt hurt that she had not informed him of her coming, 
but he assumed an indifferent air, as was his wont under 
such circumstances. 

“ What are you doing out here all alone ?” he asked, as 
if it were quite natural that she should be on the post. 

“ I am breathing in this lovely air and scenery. Do 
you know, I think it far prettier than the view of the 
valley of the Oos from the old castle at Baden-Baden, 
or the valley of the Neckar from the Heidelberg castle, 
or even that of the Thames at Richmond.” 

“Yes, it is very pretty, but I dare not say much on 
this point; I always think of my cadet days, when my 
old schoolmaster came to see me in yearling camp and 
asked me how I enjoyed myself. I said that so far life 
had not been very pleasant. * What,’ he said, * with all 
these beautiful hills about you, you can be unhappy ?’ 
I followed the sweep of his hand with my eyes, and 
there they were, sure enough, but I confess I had not 
noticed them before!” 

“ How funny! but you have learned to appreciate 
them since, have you not ?” 

“ Oh, yes.” 

After a little pause, he said, hesitatingly,— 

“ Can we not take a little stroll, Miss Arden ? They 
will not miss us in there.” 

“ Indeed, I should like it, of all things.” 

They sauntered across the plain toward Trophy Point, 



THE WARLOCK FIGHT. 


25 


“ How do you like your duties here ?” she inquired. 

“ Very much, in general, for it is interesting to teach; 
but the work is very confining, and in May, when the 
daisies and the dandelions come, I have a terrible long¬ 
ing to be out in the sunshine. But I find teaching makes 
one too dictatorial.” 

“ How do you mean ?” 

“ Why, only yesterday, coming from church, I had 
three discussions, in each of which I became angry be¬ 
cause my view was disputed.” 

“ What was it about ? Tell me.” 

“ I said that two things in the sermon disappointed 
me. One was the reference to the relation between the 
length of the humming-bird’s bill and the depth of the 
flower into which it had to penetrate, which the minister 
passed by with the simple remark, that the God that 
could make either, could also make the length of the 
bill to vary with the depth of the flower, which is quite 
true, but which has nothing of the grand in it; it savors 
of the idea of special creations, which no sane man of 
this nineteenth century believes in.” 

“ Now you are becoming dictatorial again.” 

“ Am I ? Well, to me the idea of evolution in all 
things is a much grander conception of the power of 
the Almighty, than separate acts of creation for every 
species; moreover, to me it involves no contradiction of 
the Scriptures, and certainly does not touch the essence 
of the Christian religion.” 

“ But would you have ministers preach evolution ?” 

“ Why not ? The best sermon I ever heard was by a 
minister who preached it. His subject was very simple, 
too : ‘ What shall we teach our children ?’ ” 
b 3 


26 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


“ What was his answer to that ?” 

" The first sentence in the Lord’s Prayer, the father¬ 
hood of God.” 

“ What was the other point in your discussion ?” 

“ The statement that scientific men are always trying 
to find evidence to contradict Scripture.” 

“ But that is true, is it not?” 

“ The smaller scientist may do so, but the great ones 
have been the most modest men in the world, and,” 
he added mischievously, “ have held on to faith as long 
as they could.” 

"You are the most inconsistent example of inconsist¬ 
ency I have ever seen.” 

They laughed; then he suddenly asked her,— 

“ Why did you not tell me you were coming ?” 

She changed color just a trifle. They had reached 
Trophy Point; she stood still a moment to look up the 
river; the changing colors in the sky over Newburgh 
made a lovely background for the water, lying there 
amidst the Highland hills more like a lake than a river. 

“ Because I did not think you cared.” 

Cowan smiled into her face. He was happy again; 
evidently, his caring made some difference to her. They 
walked on, these two, down by the Siege Battery, around 
Flirtation Walk, resting a while on the rock overlook¬ 
ing the light-house at Gee’s Point, and again on the 
green parapet of Battery Knox, forgetting the outer 
world, each conscious only of the other’s presence. 

There was to be a hop at Cranston’s that evening, and 
Cowan joined General Du Pont’s party on its arrival 
there. Lieutenant Fielding had come with the party, 
and a lover’s quick eye told Cowan that he was not alto- 


THE WARLOCK FIGHT. 


2 7 


gether indifferent in his attentions to Miss Arden. The 
little imps of jealousy were already whispering wicked 
things to his heart, but he decided to make the most of 
that day, whatever the outcome might be. He was 
strongly tempted to stay away from Miss Arden all the 
evening, but he fought bravely against his mood and con¬ 
quered, and so deliberately walked up to her and en¬ 
gaged her in conversation; then he asked her to walk 
over to the corner of the broad piazza, where the moon 
was creeping in. There they sat down. 

“ How lovely the moonlight is! I often think of the 
days in Florida, when I used to tell the children fairy¬ 
tales of the moonlight track across the water. Shall I 
tell you one ?” 

“ Yes,” she said, very softly. 

“ May I have this dance, Miss Arden ?” said Fielding, 
stepping up to them. 

“ I think I will not dance this one, Mr. Fielding.” 

“ What shall it be about ?” continued Cowan,—“ about 
a pair of the very deepest blue eyes and a soft cheek, 
where the color of the rose comes and goes, and a little 
hand whose touch is magic;—but behind all that a cold, 
indifferent heart, too gay in its own happiness to feel the 
suffering of the poor stray heart that-” 

“ Must that heart be so very cold ?” 

“ To make our fairy-tale true, it must.” 

The moon, coming out from behind a cloud, shone 
full upon her face, but her eyes were cast down, and she 
did not notice it. He could see the color come and go. 

“ Now may I have a dance ?” said Fielding, approach¬ 
ing once more. 

“ I will not dance this evening; I am very tired.” 



28 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


“And that other heart,” Cowan went on; “ do you 
know how the little imps of doubt and jealousy are 
torturing it?” 

“ I am very sorry.” 

“ Will sorrow make the cold heart warm, do you 
think?” 

“ Oh, they are dancing the reel; shall we go and look 
at them ?” 

As Cowan was wending his way homeward from 
Craney’s (where the party was stopping) that night, he 
was singing in a low tone, and very tenderly,— 

“ In meine Augen siehst du mehr 
Als Mond und Sterne wissen!” 


IV. 

THE CHARGE. 

“ Yet still, 

Oh, listless woman, weary lover ! 

To feel once more that fresh, wild thrill, 

I’d give—but who can live youth over?” 

“ Pillnitz, vorn absteigen!” called out the captain of 
the boat going up the Elbe from Dresden, as it was 
making one of its frequent landings. Cowan, who had 
been sitting in deep thought, jumped up and hastened 
forward, but there was plenty of time; nobody is in a 
hurry in Germany. After some delay the landing was 
finally made, and Cowan sauntered slowly through the 
village, inquiring his way to the villa occupied by Mrs. 
Arden. 

He entered by the little garden-gate and walked 


THE WARLOCK FIGHT. 


2 9 


toward the house, but seeing figures in the garden under 
the trees, he started in that direction. Mrs. Arden and 
her daughter were seated there on rustic benches, a short 
distance apart, reading. 

“ Why, Mr. Cowan!” said Mrs. Arden, seeing him 
approach, “ we were speaking of you but a moment ago. 
We are thinking of taking a little trip to the Rhine, and 
want your strong arm for protection and your good 
company.” 

They chatted awhile, telling their several experiences 
since last they met. Then Miss Arden said,— 

“Come, I want to show you the view from the hill; 
brother will go with us.” 

They strolled along through the fields, gathering the 
bright red poppies as they went, which she stuck in her 
belt. What a delicate fairy-flower she seemed herself! 
A lark rose out of the meadow and sailed up into the 
sky, scattering music on the way. They stopped to 
listen till he was far out of sight. 

“ That is the skylark ; how happy he seems !” said he, 
with a sigh. 

When they reached the top of the hill they sat down 
on the soft grass to enjoy the view. The valley of the 
Elbe opened out wide before them, and they could see in 
the distance the hills of Bohemia. Their conversation 
was not animated, for Cowan was sad and talked little, 
amusing himself by playing with the little brother; 
while Miss Arden seemed nervous about something. 
She soon remarked,— 

“ We must go back for afternoon tea.” 

They found Baron Heuduck in the garden, talking 
with Mrs. Arden. He was a gentleman past middle life, 

3 * 


30 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


cultured and refined, and a great traveller. Mrs. Arden 
was serving tea. 

“ Here, Mr. Cowan,” she said, “ you shall have the red 
cup; that’s for the artillery. You can smoke, too, if you 
like.” 

The baron engaged Cowan in conversation, talking 
mostly in German, but occasionally lapsing into French, 
to be recalled by Cowan’s puzzled expression, when he 
lost the thread of the story. Miss Arden sat near her 
mother; they were talking very earnestly in an under¬ 
tone. 

A young Garde Reiter in his light-blue uniform ap¬ 
proached the ladies and made his bow; after saying a 
few words to them he shook hands with the baron; then 
stood before Cowan in a military position, and with his 
hand at his cap, as if saluting, said,— 

“ I am Count von Arnim.” 

Cowan mumbled in a half-embarrassed way his own 
name, and then the party sat down again. Von Arnim 
took a seat near Miss Arden, and Cowan immediately 
recognized a rival. Miss Arden was nervously pulling 
at her handkerchief; the count sat close by her and 
spoke in a low tone to her, evidently with much feeling. 
At length Mrs. Arden sent her daughter into the house 
on some pretence. Cowan noticed that the count disap¬ 
peared among the trees in the garden soon after, strolling 
off quite indifferently, as if he were simply enjoying the 
air. Cowan’s face grew darker, for he knew intuitively 
what was happening, while poor Mrs. Arden was doing 
her best to entertain him. 

“ Do you remember Mr. Harvey?” she said; “he is 
consul at Odessa, now.” 


THE WARLOCK FIGHT. 


31 


“ Yes, but he never interested me much; he is not a 
man among men,” said Cowan, who was in no mood to 
agree with any one. 

“ He is such a good man, however.” 

“That is just the trouble; such men never know 
human nature.” 

Mrs. Arden tried several other subjects, but did not 
succeed in making Cowan unbend. Finally, Miss Arden 
arrived, pale and breathless, and sat down quickly by her 
mother. Cowan turned to talk to the baron, but heard 
her quite distinctly as she whispered to her mother,— 

“ I tried to avoid it, but it was no use; so we had it 
out.” 

In a few moments Mrs. Arden said, addressing 
Cowan,— 

“ We will start for the Rhine to-morrow morning at 
eight; can you be ready ? Then we will expect you at 
the station.” 

As Cowan smoked his cigar that night at the Bellevue, 
his heart was very heavy. “ Had that count not received 
some encouragement,” he said to himself, “ he would 
never have proposed. Yet she cannot help being pretty 
and bewitching, I suppose. Nor would I have her sit 
and mope for me all winter, would I ? And yet—I wish 
I had not come.” He was fighting the warlock fight. 

The journey down the Rhine to Cologne and up again 
to Mannheim was very restful to the little party. Then 
they went to Franzensbad in Bohemia, where Mrs. Arden 
had been directed by her physician to drink the waters. 
Their life there was very quiet for a time, but they soon 
found old friends and made new ones. Baron Heuduck 
was there, and a Baroness von Keil with her daughter, 


32 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


whose acquaintance Mrs. Arden had made in Dresden 
during the past winter. 

One day they were all seated at a round table in the 
garden; the baroness was entertaining Cowan with an 
account of her ailments, while the baron was in conver¬ 
sation with Miss Arden. He was a great deal with Miss 
Arden of late, as Cowan had noticed. The gypsy had 
read his character well, or else her spell was upon him. 
Suddenly the baroness missed her daughter. 

“ Oh, Mr. Cowan, will you not go and look up my 
daughter, and bring her back here ?” 

Cowan, who had been sent on this errand once or twice 
before, was glad to get away for a while, for his heart was 
sore. He was devoted in his attentions to Miss Arden, 
but his jealousy left him cold and formal, so it was only 
misery to him to be near her. He saw the young lady 
he was supposed to be in search of, at the grounds where 
the party of the queen of Bohemia was playing croquet. 
But he sauntered away in quite another direction. Sud 
denly he noticed the figure of a dark-eyed woman 
holding a little girl by the hand; it was the gypsy 
woman who had given him the little flask. He walked 
rapidly up to her, put a piece of money in her hand, and 
was about to return the flask and ask some questions, when 
the baron and Mrs. Arden passed close by on their way 
over to the music stand. Cowan turned to salute them, 
and when he looked again for the gypsy she was gone. 

Meanwhile, Miss Arden and the baroness were left 
alone at the table. 

“ Mr. Cowan is a very fine fellow,” said the baroness, 
“ but I fear he is not to be depended upon.” 

“ Why do you think that ?” 


THE WARLOCK FIGHT. 


33 


“Well, Mrs. English came over on the same steamer 
with him, and she said that he was so devoted to Miss 
Reed that he was known to all aboard as ‘ Miss Reed’s 
officer.’ ” 

“ Are not people always saying such things ?” 

“Yes, but that is not all. Before sailing he sent a 
box of flowers to a young lady at West Point. On the 
steamer it was Miss Reed; but before they landed at 
Liverpool he became very attentive to another young 
lady and followed her to Paris, and there, meeting a 
young lady he had known at Newport (he told me this 
himself only this morning), he came very near going to 
Norway with her party.” 

Miss Arden’s heart was aching. She turned away for 
relief, and there a short distance before her she saw a 
figure of a woman moving along as if avoiding notice. 
Miss Arden grasped the little flask at her throat and was 
about to start after her. Just then the baron and Mrs. 
Arden approached. 

“ Come, little daughter,” said Mrs. Arden, noticing the 
pained expression on the pale face, “ I have something 
to say to you.” 

The baron sat down. At that moment Cowan ap¬ 
proached. 

“ You have not found her?” said the baroness. 

“ No,” replied Cowan, wearily. 

“ Then I must go and find her myself,” she said, evi¬ 
dently expecting Cowan to accompany her, but he sat 
down by the baron. 

“ What a sweet girl Miss Arden is, and what a fine 
figure she has!” said the baron, looking after the mother 
and daughter. 


34 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


“Yes, rather good,” said Cowan, assuming indiffer¬ 
ence. 

“ She has a mind of her own, however,” continued the 
baron. “ What a time her mother had with her last 
winter, when one of the Garde Reiters, Riederer, was so 
devoted to her. Mrs. Arden learned that he was very 
dissipated, but Miss Arden would not give him up, in¬ 
sisting that people were slandering him. One day Mrs. 
Arden came to me, crying bitterly. ‘ What shall I do ? 
what shall I do ?’ she said. I had a hard time straighten¬ 
ing the matter out.” 

Cowan was sick at heart. He rose and walked away 
without a word. He overtook Mrs. Arden and her 
daughter, and walked to their villa with them. Count 
von Arnim was there awaiting their return. Cowan 
had intended to say good-by and start home on the 
next steamer, but now he determined to see if fate had 
anything else in store for him, so he stayed for supper. 

After supper they sat on the veranda and talked of 
Heidelberg, and the white caps there. The count be¬ 
longed to that corps in his student days. Then they 
spoke of the duelling in the student corps and in the 
army. Cowan had been very quiet. 

“Do they have duelling in the American army?” 
asked the count. 

“ No, not at present,” said Cowan, quietly; “ it is for¬ 
bidden.” 

“ Suppose an officer were to fight a duel, what would 
be done to him ?” 

“ He would be hung for murder,” said Cowan, pro¬ 
nouncing each word distinctly. 

The count looked utterly disgusted. He did not 


THE WARLOCK FIGHT. 


35 


remain long. Mrs. Arden and the baron, finding the air 
chilly, went back into the drawing-room, while Cowan 
and Miss Arden remained. Cowan was cold, almost 
cruel in his words, and although Miss Arden made a 
great effort to amuse him and entice him out of his un¬ 
happy mood, they soon lapsed into long silences. Then 
Cowan saw by what little light there was that tears were 
standing in her eyes. He came to her, put his arms 
about her, and, without a word, pressed his lips to hers 
in a long tender kiss, then asked, while she was struggling 
to free herself,—“ Am I forgiven, sweetness ?” 

“ No,” she said, decidedly, and ran to her room. 

He entered the drawing-room and found Mrs. Arden 
on the divan. He kissed her hand and knelt down by 
her side, asking for her assistance. She put both her 
hands on his head and kissed him quietly on the eyes. 

“ Never mind, poor boy,” she said, “ it will all come 
right. I cannot let her go yet. She is not good for 
much, but she is the best I have, my only one.” 

As Cowan left the house he heard a sad voice, singing: 

“ Behuet dich Gott, es war zu schon gewesen, 

Behuet dich Gott, es hat nicht sollen sein.” 


V. 

THE PURSUIT. 

“ Good the judgment of a father; 

Better still, a mother’s counsel; 

Best of all, one’s own decision. 
****** 

Better be the whiting’s sister, 

And the friend of perch and salmon, 
Than an old man’s slave and darling.” 


Cowan is sitting in his quarters alone, smoking his 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


36 

after-dinner cigar; his Irish setter is lying on the rug 
before the fireplace, and the black kitten is coiled up on 
the divan. Without, the March winds are rattling the 
shutters. 

“ So that little dream of mine,” he said to himself, “ is 
over. All my interest in my work for the past two years 
has been for her sake,—why should I care for my own ? 
But, then, we should do our duty for duty’s sake, we are 
told; oh, yes, that is all very well, but I do not care to,” 
he said, impatiently, and walked about the room. “ I 
can only drift now. Yet, how she has become a part of 
my life! wherever I turn there is some reminder of her. 
No act of mine that was not in some way connected 
with a thought of her. 

“ But why should I make myself unhappy over a 
frivolous girl that does not care for me ? Have I loved 
her all this time, and did she never really love me at all ? 
Ah, yes, when I kissed her little hand and it turned cold 
and trembled in mine, did she not love me then ? Why, 
then, should she rave about Riederer, and worry that 
sweet little madonna mother so, if she loved me ? When 
I told her the mock fairy-tale at Cranston’s, did not her 
color come and go with the pulses of her heart? But 
wherefore, if she loved me, did she encourage Von 
Arnim, while I was far away, so that he should propose 
to her ? And when I kissed her at Franzensbad, did 
she not put out her hands for one instant, as if about 
to admit a little love for me? And now I hear the 
old baron is her constant attendant! I cannot under¬ 
stand.” 

He sat down again, with a dejected air, when sud¬ 
denly he caught sight of a little vial lying before him. 


THE WARLOCK FIGHT. 


37 


“ Ah, there is the secret! Love and jealousy I ac¬ 
cepted in one gift. If I should break it? Then, the 
gypsy said, my love will pass at once to another. What 
does that mean ? Shall I love another, or shall my love 
for her pass to another, who will then love her as I do 
now ? Let us try it.” He stepped over to the fire¬ 
place. “ I will hold it thus over the cold marble, and 
then—no,—no, I do not care to love another; let fate de¬ 
cide in her own way.” 

The servant entered with a letter; it had a foreign 
post-mark, one unfamiliar to him ; he recognized the 
handwriting as Miss Arden’s and tore the letter open; 
it was dated at Monaco. There was not much in it, 
only that they were travelling a little previous to return¬ 
ing home, which she thought would be in August. 
Then came a little joke: she had decided to try her luck 
at the bank, for if the old saying be true, considering 
her luck in love, she thought she ought to break the 
bank. Venice she spoke of as a probable resting-place 
on the way. 

“ No address by which I can reach her,” said Cowan, 
as he threw down the letter; “ no clue to finding her but 
the fact that they will probably stop in Venice for a while : 
I will go to Venice.” 

A lover’s decision, truly. The tenth of June (the cadet 
examinations over) found him on board of the French 
steamer, bound for Havre. In Geneva, according to 
previous arrangement, he was joined by Macnaughten 
from Spain, and by another comrade from Paris, and 
then the three set out on a walking tour across the Alps. 
That was a wonderful tour, never to be forgotten. The 
views of the valley of Chamonix through the rifts in the 

4 



33 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


fog, coming out like a negative plate being developed, 
as they climbed up to the Pavilion Bellevue; the snow¬ 
storm on the Col des Fours, where the snow lay waist- 
deep and all the stakes that marked the path were blown 
down, and they were all but lost in the driving snow; 
the Allee Blanche and Courmayeur, lying so restfully be¬ 
tween these grand giants that rise into the regions of per¬ 
petual snow; the steep ascent to the Theodule Pass 
past the sharp peak of the Matterhorn, so near it seemed 
that they could touch its abrupt rocky sides; down over 
the great glacier to Zermatt. These scenes of magnifi¬ 
cent grandeur and the bracing air gave life an intenser 
interest and reality and drove away all melancholy. 

From Brieg they went over the Simplon down to the 
plains of Italy. What a transition from the cold, rugged 
Alps, to the land of sun and olives! How peacefully 
the rich land lay there in the warm sun! No wonder it 
has been fought over by the armies of Europe! It was 
the very atmosphere of love, and in consequence Cowan 
began to grow restless as soon as they reached the lakes. 
At Bellagio he can loiter along no more, but must leave 
his friends to hurry post to Venice. 

All day long, day after day, he roamed about afoot or 
skimmed along in a gondola aimlessly, hoping to see a 
face, yet he saw it not. One day, as he was gliding 
along on the canal in a gondola, he saw a woman, hold¬ 
ing a little girl by the hand, crossing the bridge before 
him. Can it be the gypsy woman ? He landed and fol¬ 
lowed hurriedly in pursuit, but he did not find her. 

“ Yet it may be a good omen,” he said. 

A week passed and he decided to go to Munich. He 
strolled over to take a last look at the lion of St. Mark 


THE WARLOCK FIGHT. 


39 


Then he decided to enter St. Mark’s; it had a curious 
fascination for him, this tinge of the East on everything. 
He wandered about, trying to picture to himself Venice 
in its golden days, when suddenly he found himself face 
to face with Miss Arden. She gave a little cry of sur¬ 
prise : there before them on the cold floor lay the two 
vials broken in pieces, the sweet odor of roses filling the 
air like incense. They gazed upon each other, and be¬ 
hold, the love of each passed to the other, and there was 
no trace remaining of jealousy or pride,—only true love 
and faith. 

He took both her hands in his and kissed them rev¬ 
erently. 

“ So a little warmth has come into that fairy heart, 
after all,” he said, smiling. 

“ And you will never be dignified and reserved again ?” 
she said, archly. “You saw only my pride and would 
not see my love for you,” she added. 

“And you credited me only with jealousy,” he 
answered. 

“ How the little imps of pride and jealousy have 
worried us,” she said; “ but life will be all the sweeter 
now. And the gypsy woman told us true.” 

“ Yes,” said the gentle voice of the little mother 
coming up behind them, “ you have won the warlock 
fight.” Then, turning to her daughter, “ And you are 
not going to marry the baron, after all my persua¬ 
sions ?” 

Miss Arden bit her lip, but her face brightened at 
once: 

“ Do you know, little mother, I believe he was in love 
with you all the time.” 


40 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


Then it was Mrs. Arden’s turn to look displeased, but 
her daughter laughed so merrily that she soon smiled 
again. 

Then they passed out into the light of heaven. They 
did not notice the dark figure of a woman, holding a 
little girl by the hand, over against the great campanile, 
smiling blessings upon them as they passed, as a guardian 
angel might. So they passed on, these two, in happi¬ 
ness, and lived a life of love and faith, free from all pride 
and jealousy. No one was ever refused an alms by them, 
for whenever they gave they felt that they were but pay¬ 
ing the debt they owed the dark-eyed gypsy woman. 


TAMBA. 

“ Great Scott, what a splendid-looking fellow! A 
perfect Achilles. Who is he ?” inquired one gentleman 
of another as they lounged in the superb reading-room 
of the Manhattan Club. 

He was in truth a perfect specimen of a man, a Her¬ 
cules in strength, an Apollo in form, a sculptor’s ideal 
carved from ebony. Yes, he was black, but with feat¬ 
ures regular, clear-cut, as perfect in outline as the pure- 
blooded mountaineer of Circassia, a descendant of the 
prophet chieftain—Shamyl. He resembled the stately 
native of India—the grave, dignified bearing of the 
Sepoy, possessing, in fact, but few traits or characteristics 
usually accredited to the African race. He was six feet 
three inches in height, straight as an arrow, broad- 



TAMBA. 


41 


shouldered, with chest deep and full, limbs sinewy and 
well-rounded, and arms that were perfect in their de¬ 
velopment Beneath the fine silky texture of his glisten¬ 
ing skin, the swell of every muscle, the curve of every 
line was plainly discernible. His hands, slight, sinewy, 
and tapering, possessed the power of a steel vise, while 
his strength was something wonderful, and fully in keep¬ 
ing with his matchless physique. His eyes were large, 
of a deep brown, kindly in expression, but capable of 
gleaming with ominous fires when the pulsations of his 
heart were throbbing under recollections of exciting 
episodes connected with his eventful career. His hair 
curled closely to his well-poised head, and a moustache 
shaded his mouth, conveying in every line firmness, 
determination, and courage. Such was Tamba, the per¬ 
sonal attendant of Lieutenant Merryhew, United States 
Navy, retired, between whom existed as warm a senti¬ 
ment of regard and friendship as ever was fostered in 
the human heart. 

“ I am well acquainted with the somewhat stirring 
incidents connected with Merryhew’s first acquaintance 
with his superb follower. I have heard the lieutenant 
relate the yarn, as he terms it, on a couple of occasions, 
and, being a pretty good sailor, flatter myself I can ren¬ 
der the nautical portion of it with a true salty flavor. 
Would you like to listen to the story ? It will be an 
hour ere dinner is announced and by that time Merry¬ 
hew will be here himself, and I shall be pleased to intro¬ 
duce you to as fine and gallant a fellow as ever trod the 
quarter-deck or swung a trumpet.” 

A general murmur of assent greeted the proposition, 
cigars were lighted, comfortable positions assumed, and 

4 * 


42 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


without further preliminaries the narrator began the 
story: 

“A number of years ago, it does not matter how 
many, Merryhew found himself in command of one of 
those miserable ten-gun brigs that had been detailed to 
cruise on the west coast of Africa. Merryhew had been 
executive officer of the brig, and it was owing to the 
fatal coast fever, which carried off many a gallant soul, 
that our friend gained his first command. 

“ It was just at daylight, one morning, with the fever- 
haunted coast close aboard, that the lookout stationed 
on the foretop-sail yard reported something, a mere 
speck, bobbing about in the slanting rays of the sun. 
By the aid of a powerful glass, the object was finally 
made out as a battered, time-worn, native canoe. The 
man-of-war was becalmed, rolling, dipping her bows 
into the long regular swell, making considerable fuss 
but no headway, with canvas hanging idly from spar and 
yards that creaked a dismal response to every heave of 
the glassy swells. An hour passed, the set of the cur¬ 
rent bringing the canoe perceptibly nearer to the helpless 
brig-of-war. Actuated more from a spirit of restless¬ 
ness than convictions of duty, Merryhew ordered the 
swift-pulling whale-boat to be called away, and the next 
instant he was in the stern-sheets, heading direct for the 
drifting derelict. 

“ It was barely possible, mused the lieutenant, as he 
mopped his brow, that a human being might be an in¬ 
mate of the cockle-shell, and it will make an item for 
the log anyway, showing vigilance, and all that sort of 
thing. 

“ And sure enough, the lieutenant’s determination to 


TAM BA. 


43 


overhaul the craft met with its reward, coupled with the 
satisfaction of rescuing from a horrible, lingering death 
a human being. 

“ Stretched in the bottom of the crazy cockle-shell was 
the inanimate form of a poor emaciated native, with 
barely life enough left to cause his heart to flutter. The 
sailors carefully and tenderly passed him into the trim 
man-of-war’s boat; in ten minutes they had regained the 
brig; the surgeon buckled to his work, but Merryhew 
did all the nursing, and that was by long odds the 
greatest half of the battle. The lieutenant had a hammock 
swung in the airy after-cabin, where every attention was 
bestowed upon the poor fellow. By careful and unre¬ 
mitting attention the negro was restored to life and 
health, testifying his gratitude by acknowledging Merry¬ 
hew as his master, upon whom he waited with the fidelity 
and devotion of a spaniel. 

“ It was thus that the lieutenant obtained his body-ser¬ 
vant, Tamba, the magnificently-proportioned fellow who 
attracted the attention and aroused the enthusiasm of our 
friend there. 

“ It appears that Tamba was the son of a king ruling 
some inland tribe. In a skirmish with a hostile force, 
the prince with the dusky skin was captured, carried to 
the coast, where, in an effort to effect his escape by means 
of the crazy, worm-eaten canoe, he was blown and drifted 
off the coast, coming within an ace of losing his life. 
From that day he has been Merryhew’s constant atten¬ 
dant, absolutely refusing all overtures to return to his 
native land. Generally where you see one, there will 
you meet the other, and with a right royal mien Tamba 
carries himself. He really shows his lineage, and the 


44 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


blood he has in his veins. It is bound to assert itself, 
be the skin white, black, or yellow, and I am a believer 
in blue blood, gentleman, and an established lineage, 
be it man or beast. 

“ But wait, keep your seats. I have not yet commenced 
the yarn. I have merely explained the accident, if you 
please, through which the lieutenant secured his prize. 
The exciting portion of the story has yet to be related.” 

Cigars were replenished, chairs drawn a trifle closer 
together, the club-men’s interest was thoroughly aroused, 
which fact stimulated the narrator to score a success in 
adding another laurel to his reputation as a successful 
story-teller. 

“ There was one incident connected with Merryhew 
and his sable follower, which would seem to emphasize 
the theory that there is more or less destiny woven in 
with our existence here on earth. Be that as it may, it 
was a fortunate day in the lieutenant’s log when he res¬ 
cued Tamba from that old shattered canoe. 

“ A long, irregular swell was heaving in from the west¬ 
ward, causing the heavily-sparred brig to roll and wallow 
in the most exasperating manner. Not a breath of air 
was stirring, the sea was placid as the face of a burnished 
mirror, the canvas tugged and slatted aloft, responding 
lustily to each erratic movement of the vessel, while the 
various reef-points kept up a lively and never-ceasing 
species of devil’s tattoo, most trying to the nerves of the 
sorely-tried crew. 

“ Standing abaft the main-royal backstay, leaning care¬ 
lessly against the low bulwarks, the commanding officer 
appeared buried in a deep revery. A vicipus roll, a 
sudden lurch, that threw many of the men off their feet, 


TAMBA. 


45 


a dull creaking aloft as the spanker-gaff swung to wind¬ 


ward, a smothered exclamation, followed by a loud splash, 
were sounds that greeted the ear of the astonished officer 
who had charge of the deck. 

“ ‘ Man overboard!’ was the startling cry. ‘ Call away 
the first cutter!’ came from the quarter-deck. * Quietly, 
my lads, quietly; but work quickly, for your lives.’ 

“ Springing to the taffrail, the officer threw a life-pre¬ 
server to his superior, who was a few yards astern, the 
current and swell causing the light craft to drift rapidly 
off shore. 

“ The cry and unusual excitement had brought officers 
and men tumbling on deck, scarcely realizing what had 
occurred. But more than one swarthy, sunburned cheek 
paled as the form of their commander in the water astern 
was revealed to them. 

“ ‘ My God !’ exclaimed the senior lieutenant as he 
staggered against the main fife-rail, his face white from 
suppressed excitement and emotion, “ the boat will be 
too late, and we are powerless. Look there! Great 
heavens! ’tis the shark.’ 

“ For days, following in the wake of the brig, a huge 
shark had persistently clung, making no attempt to bite 
at the tempting morsels of salt pork deftly placed on 
keen, sharp hooks. Close under the counter, lurking in 
the deep shadows, the man-eater maintained his position, 
occasionally turning on his side, his dull and leaden eyes 
appearing to mock the efforts of the officers as they 
brought their carbines to bear upon him. The sailors 
viewed the monster with superstitious dread; the berth- 
deck oracles wagged their heads, predicting death and ; 
disaster, and that right soon. 





46 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


“ There was a sudden movement on the part of the 
shark, his dorsal fin cut through the water, leaving no 
trace behind it, while a luminous, glancing body shot 
suddenly into the sunlight, which all hands recognized, 
and shuddered as they watched. 

“ The officers and men of the first cutter had not been 
idle; but ere a blade of the ashen oars could strike the 
water there was a rush of a tall, stalwart form across the 
quarter-deck, a flash of steel, and Tamba, with a bayonet 
snatched from the scabbard of a starched, prim, and 
exceedingly astonished marine, was overboard. 

“ The shark had sighted his prey, one stroke of his 
powerful tail causing him to glide through the pellucid 
depths of the water like a flash. The gleam of his white 
belly was seen as he turned to seize his victim; but Tamba 
had reached the all-important point in time. As the 
man-eater presented his side, the negro, agile and lithe 
almost as his fearful antagonist, dived, driving the weapon 
deep into the monster’s body. There was a tinge of 
blood, an avalanche of foam ; the water was lashed into 
spray, through which occasional glimpses of a dark head, 
bloody arm, and glistening steel, and the writhing body of 
the shark were inextricably mixed up and but indistinctly 
seen. 

“ Merryhew was picked up by the men in the cutter, 
but ere he reached the deck the strange combat had 
terminated. Out of the deeply-dyed water, red with the 
life-blood of the shark, Tamba emerged, his weapon 
carried proudly on high as he passed over the gangway, 
leaving the man-eater floating motionless on the surface 
of the water. 

“ In presence of the ship’s company, Tamba was 


TAMBA. 


47 


thanked by the lieutenant for his gallantry, acknowl¬ 
edged as the preserver of his life, the whole circumstance 
entered in the log, and the negro’s popularity and stand¬ 
ing as a brave man was assured throughout the brig- 
of-war. 

“ Time passed on; the cruiser had anchored in the har¬ 
bor of Goree, an inhospitable lump of rock under the 
tri-color of France situated some nine miles from the 
mainland, and Merryhew, who was fond of sporting, 
determined to take a look at the jungle and what it con¬ 
tained in the shape of game, ere the vessel took her 
departure on another cruise. 

“Accompanied by Tamba, he landed on an unfre¬ 
quented spot of the mainland; the boat returned to the 
vessel, while the officer plunged into the maizes of the 
forest, intent upon such sport as might be expected to 
lurk beneath the deep shadows and luxuriant foliage of 
an African jungle. 

" It was late in the day when the two, well laden with 
game, came suddenly upon the borders of a vast plain 
of sand. Standing under a wide-spreading palm, Mer¬ 
ryhew gazed curiously upon the scene of desolation be¬ 
fore him, when suddenly from behind a sand dune came 
a puff of smoke, a report, and a musket-ball whistled 
in close proximity to the officer’s ear. With the report 
came a savage yell, and a dozen horsemen, mounted upon 
Arabian steeds, burst suddenly forth from a mass of long, 
undulating serge grass, charging with headlong fury 
upon the two amazed, half-stupefied hunters, who, how¬ 
ever, rapidly realized the danger they were in as they 
faced the cumbersome matchlocks, long, glittering spears, 
and dark, frowning features of the marauding Arabs 


48 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


swooping down upon them with the speed and fury of a 
whirlwind. 

“ Turning their backs to the foe, the two sought safety 
in flight, seeking the protection afforded by the intricacies 
of the jungle, their paces accelerated by a rattling volley 
from their vindictive pursuers. At the edge of the jun¬ 
gle the Arabs dismounted, following the trail on foot, 
shouting and hallooing as they advanced. 

“ It made but little difference to Merryhew what di¬ 
rection he pursued, although he would have preferred to 
lessen the distance intervening between him and the ocean. 
Could he have communicated with his vessel, a few shells 
would have dispersed the blood-thirsty believers of Ma¬ 
homet like dew before the sun. There was nothing to 
depend on but their individual strength and courage. 

“ The sun had nearly disappeared, as reeling with ex¬ 
haustion, faint from .fatigue in forcing a passage through 
the numerous obstacles met with at every step, the sorely- 
pressed officer came suddenly upon the low shelving 
bank of a wide creek, the sluggish current of which 
flowed onward, emptying into the river which found an 
outlet opposite to Goree. At least Merryhew reasoned 
that such must be the case, and groaned inwardly that 
there was no boat or canoe by which escape might be 
possible. But the vengeful cries of the agile Arabs were 
again echoing through the dim recesses of the mighty 
forest; the brief respite of rest, together with a refresh¬ 
ing draught of water, had somewhat revived and restored 
the confidence of the fugitives, who, holding their weap¬ 
ons upon their heads, plunged resolutely into the slimy 
depths of the creek, and reached the opposite bank as 
the leading native sprang into view. 


TAMBA. 


49 


“ The dull thud of a heavy ball, as it buried itself in the 
trunk of a neighboring tree, aroused the ire of Merry- 
hew, who determined that all the shooting should not be 
confined to the dirty, turbanned fanatics clamoring so 
vindictively for blood. Quick as thought his rifle was 
levelled, and with the report the form of a true believer 
measured its length amid the jungle grass. He had 
received his kismet, and the howls of his comrades 
loudly proclaimed the fact, alarming even the white-faced 
baboons as they trooped and chattered amid the inter¬ 
lacing foliage above. 

“ A shout from Tamba caused Merryhew to hurry for¬ 
ward. Waving his hand towards an open space border¬ 
ing upon the creek, the negro, his eyes flashing with 
excitement, nostrils dilated, and quivering with agita¬ 
tion, called upon his master to follow. Through the 
deepening shadows of the coming night the sharp eye 
of the sailor detected a species of hut, encircled by a 
high stockade, firmly built, and completely defending 
the position. It had probably been constructed for the 
use of some French officer as a rude hunting lodge, the 
high paling serving to keep at bay wild beasts and un¬ 
welcome reptiles. It was surrounded on two sides by a 
heavy morass covered with thickly interwoven mangrove 
roots and bushes, while an arm of the creek flowed in 
front, and the dark approaches of the forest commanded 
the remaining side. Without a moment’s hesitation the 
two entered through the narrow gateway, replaced the 
sharpened paling, barricaded the entrance, feeling for the 
time, at least, they were safe from their implacable foes. 
The Arabs were soon upon the scene, evincing their sur¬ 
prise and discomfiture at the turn affairs had taken by loud 

C d 5 


So 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


and continued guttural cries of surprise. Rendered wary 
by the fate of their comrade, they kept well under cover, 
contenting themselves with occasionally firing a random 
shot at the dark outlines of the retreat where they had 
their prey caged. 

“ The sharp eyes of Tamba discovered one venturesome 
Arab, who, anxious for a shot, had advanced beyond his 
fellows. Tamba’s rifle quickly rang out, the Arab’s death 
shriek followed, and actuated by an uncontrollable in¬ 
fluence, the negro leaped on to the highest point of the 
paling as he chanted forth his war-cry. 

“ The light of the Arab’s watch-fire flickered and 
gleamed fitfully athwart the turbid waters of the creek, 
affording the besieged fleeting glimpses of the sur¬ 
roundings as they stood on the alert, rifles in hand, not 
daring for an instant to relax their vigilance and watch¬ 
fulness. 

“ A deep guttural exclamation from Tamba, coupled 
with an energetic grasp of the arm, was sufficient for 
Merryhew to glance in the direction indicated by the 
native. Revealed by the ruddy glare of the fire was a 
light canoe, moored to the opposite shore, but directly 
within striking distance of the Arabs, who lurked in the 
cover afforded by grass and underbrush. 

“ ‘ Well, you mean the canoe ? What does it amount 
to?’ responded Merryhew, bitterly, as he wiped the 
moisture from his throbbing temples. ‘ It might as well 
be in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, for all the good 
it is to us. Should we attempt to make a rush for it, 
those cursed marauders would pick us off at their 
leisure; and depend upon it, sharp eyes are watching 
every movement we make.’ 


TAMBA. 5 1 

“‘Tamba am warrior/ replied the negro, proudly. 
‘ Him take canoe and kill desert thieves.’ 

“ ‘ But what will you do with the dugout, even if you 
succeed in capturing it ?’ demanded Merryhew. 

“ At that moment the dull, heavy report of a gun—a 
heavy piece of ordnance—was heard booming with a 
solemn cadence through the vast jungle. It caused a 
stir and considerable buzzing among the besiegers, who 
evidently did not understand from whence the report 
came. It was a signal-gun from the brig-of-war, and her 
commander felt something of a lump rise in his throat 
as he pictured the bright, cosey quarters and ward-room, 
together with the social circle wont to gather around the 
polished table of an evening. The joke and merry 
laugh, a snatch of familiar melody, recollections of ship¬ 
mates endeared through long years of companionship, 
the brig, and home,—dear old home,—were thoughts 
that crowded thick and fast upon the poor fellow as he 
stood at his post, half concealed within the sombre 
shadows cast by an overtowering monarch of the jungle. 
The sputtering report of a match-lock, and the swish of 
an Arab bullet as it sped past, was a grim response to 
the heart-yearnings of the despairing but plucky fellow. 

“ Rising and falling on the calm, still air, softly modu¬ 
lated, but with startling distinctness, floated the notes of 
a bugle. Merryhew understood it all. Alarmed by his 
prolonged absence, a searching party had been dispatched 
in quest of him. But amid the darkness and impenetrable 
gloom of the jungle, together with the mangrove bushes 
and towering growth of bamboo lining the banks of the 
stream, there was but little hope of the party discover¬ 
ing the entrance to the creek. 


52 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


“There was considerable stir and agitation amongst 
the Arabs. They, too, had heard the bugle, the tones of 
which had no pleasant recollections for them. They 
coupled its notes with the nervous thrust of French 
sabre-bayonets, of which they stood in wholesome dread. 
That some decisive movement was being contemplated 
by the barbarians, was plain to Merryhew. He rea¬ 
soned that the only hope for succor lay in communi¬ 
cating with the searching party. If the canoe could be 
gained, the plan was feasible, and Tamba was well cal¬ 
culated to succeed in the tactics that were required. 

“ The fine white teeth of the African gleamed in the 
flickering light, as Merryhew hastily explained to his 
follower what was necessary for him to acccomplish. 

“‘Be quick; above all, be noiseless; create no alarm, 
if you can avoid it. Push your way down the river; be 
guided by the notes of the bugle, and pilot the lads to 
the rescue. Good-by, and success go with you.' 

“ ‘ Me go—me come back quick,' was the only re¬ 
sponse of the sable Hercules, as he stripped, as the 
sailors say, to a girtline. His rifle was leaning against 
the palings; a sharp glance in the direction of the 
lurking foe, a silent wave of his hand to Merryhew, and 
the native was gone. 

“ Hugging the earth closely, Tamba wormed himself 
slowly forward, keeping as far as possible under cover 
of every friendly shadow and projecting object. Every 
movement was breathlessly watched by Merryhew, who 
beheld the dexterous fellow glide into the turbid waters 
of the creek, scarcely causing a ripple to play upon its 
surface. His head sank beneath the almost stagnant 
current. At the same moment a huge crocodile floated 


TAMBA. 


53 

into the full blaze of the watch-fire. The glint of his 
huge jaws caused the heart of the officer to almost cease 
beating as he strove to follow the movements of his de¬ 
voted follower. But his attention was soon centred in 
another direction, compelling him to exert every faculty 
that he remained master of. 

“ Urged on by the cries of their leader, three Arabs 
charged boldly across the open space lying between the 
hut and border of the jungle, covered by a scattering 
volley from those remaining under cover. One tall fel¬ 
low leaped convulsively into the air, a victim to Merry- 
hew’s marksmanship, ere half of the space had been 
covered. But the other two plunged forward; the 
second shot from the lieutenant’s rifle proved abortive. 
The paling was all but gained when the clear ringing 
tones of some strange and barbarous war-cry echoed 
with startling distinctness and effect through the recesses 
of the gloomy jungle. 

“ Struck with consternation, and badly demoralized by 
the unlooked-for demonstration, the two Arabs abandoned 
the attack, darting back to cover, while Merryhew, as he 
reloaded his weapons, noticed that the canoe had van¬ 
ished. It was the faithful black who had pealed forth 
his sonorous shout of battle, as he plied the paddle with 
dexterous skill and strength. It was a fortunate diver¬ 
sion for the holder of the hut. 

“ With both rifles ready at hand, the lieutenant watched 
narrowly for the next demonstration on the part of the 
foe. An unbroken stillness reigned amid the vast soli¬ 
tude, the weary watcher straining his ear in vain to catch 
a shout or cheery bugle-note from the searching-party. 
Suddenly he was aroused by the distant “ hurrah” of a 

5 * 


54 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


pack of jackals which appeared to break the charm of 
quietude, the entire jungle becoming alive, as it were, with 
a multitude of unearthly sounds of birds and beasts as¬ 
sailing his ear. He recognized the purring of the peewit 
plover, the cry of an awakened peacock, the solitary cry 
of a beast of prey, and the shrill trumpeting of an 
elephant as he crashed through the undergrowth. 

“ A flash of scintillating light darted through the heavy, 
poisonous atmosphere; a second and a third fiery mes¬ 
senger skimmed through the air, revealing to Merryhew 
the new mode of attack adopted by his savage foes. 
The rascals were shooting lighted chips of bamboo at 
the dry thatch of the hut, which was soon in a blaze. 
Against the inroads of this enemy, Merryhew was 
powerless to struggle. Above the snapping and crack¬ 
ling of the rapidly-spreading flames, the deep exultant 
cries of the Arabs reached him, as they crept stealthily 
closer, forward, keenly on the qui vive for the final rush 
and desperate charge of the Christian dogs whose lives 
they had sworn to have. 

“ The smoke and heat were becoming unbearable ; the 
poor fellow had retreated to the best cover remaining to 
him, clinging desperately to the rifles, determined to sell 
his life as dearly as possible. Once in a while his 
thoughts would wander to the searching-party, to Tamba, 
and the efforts that resolute fellow was making to save 
his life. He had but faint hopes the negro would suc¬ 
ceed in the face of so many obstacles and an almost im¬ 
penetrable darkness, but he groaned aloud in his anguish 
of heart as his face all but blistered in the fierce heat. 

" ‘ Bear a hand, Tamba, bear a hand, my lad ; bring up 
the blue jackets, or the old brig will soon require an- 


TAMBA. 5 5 

other commander. Flesh and blood cannot stand this ; 
better die outside, fighting like a man.’ 

“Fumbling through the smoke for the entrance, he 
commenced tearing down the palings, having determined 
to make a rush for the creek, brave the fire of the re¬ 
maining Arabs, with a view of gaining cover in the jun¬ 
gle until help from the party arrived. 

“ A yell of alarm, a wild hurrah, with a hoarse shout of 
Tamba echoing above all, and a score of athletic, nimble 
tars dashed impetuously through mud and water, across 
mangrove roots and over the open ground, their arms and 
accoutrements flashing in the blaze of the burning hut. 

“ In the midst of the excitement, with the din of the 
melee, sweet music to his untutored ears, Tamba, who 
had found and unerringly led the rescuing party to the 
scene, was busy working his way over the burning 
debris of the hunting resort. He found his master in a 
dead faint, badly used up, overcome by the heat, smoke, 
and excitement, but a dash of water, with plenty of fresh 
air, soon brought him around. 

“ As for the Arabs, not one of the party was captured, 
or even seen, by the enraged sailors. It would have 
been a short shrift for them ; for the blood of the men 
had been aroused from the treatment that had been 
received by Merryhew at their hands, and they were 
wild for revenge. But like shadows that melt and 
fade into air, the dusky, ferocious denizens of the desert 
vanished, plunging into the recesses of the jungle, with 
scarcely a sound to betray their presence. 

“ All felt relieved as a final farewell was bid to the scene 
of the adventure. The march to the beach was a trifle 
difficult, but their hearts were light, and the lieutenant 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


56 

had the assistance of Tamba’s sinewy arms. A sigh of 
relief escaped from the officer’s lips as he reclined in the 
stern-sheets of the fleet-pulling cutter, and the brig-of- 
war was reached as the first rays of the gleaming sun 
gilded the burnished trucks of the vessel. 

“ Shortly afterwards the old craft received orders to 
return to the United States. Merryhew offered to land 
Tamba, laden with rewards such as were well calculated 
to gladden the heart of a simple-minded African. But 
he refused absolutely to part from his benefactor. 

“‘You warrior,’ he said; ‘ me warrior too. We go 
together,’ and they have been together, side by side, 
sharing danger and pleasures, shadow and sunshine, with 
all the ups and downs that are common to the careers 
of brothers of the sword. 

“ But—ah, yes, there he is,—Merryhew in person, 
broad-shouldered, sunburnt,—good-natured fellow as 
ever existed. We will all have dinner together, for you 
must meet my friend, and in meeting him you will be 
sure to come in contact with Tamba, who is never, under 
any circumstances, far distant from the man he worships.” 


WOBBERTS. 

Just where he came from, who he was, and what he 
was, no man in the whole garrison could accurately tell. 
A milder-mannered, more spiritless and inoffensive 
creature, apparently, had never appeared in the uniform 
of a cavalry trooper. He joined us with a batch of re- 



WOBBERTS. 


57 


emits from the far East, sent to fill the gaps torn in our 
column by an Indian campaign of unusual severity and 
duration, and from the very moment of his arrival, suf- 
ferant and unprotesting, took his place as the butt of the 
entire troop to which he was assigned. Nothing he 
could do by any possibility seemed to be right. Nothing 
he could say, on the contrary, could by any means go 
wrong, for in very truth he said nothing at all. Playing 
on his unsophistication and ignorance, the men seemed 
tireless in the pastime of “ putting up a job on Robberts.” 
He would blush with mortification, or, possibly, only 
with embarrassment, at being the centre of observation 
and public remark. He would wait for a moment, awk¬ 
ward and sorrowful, when the climax was reached, and, 
amidst the laughter and jeers of a swarm of sun-burnt 
troopers, he stood revealed as the hero of some new 
piece of military absurdity in which he was designedly 
entrapped, and then would slink silently away, lifting his 
hand to his mouth, in a gesture at once deprecatory and 
apologetic, and wander out on the open prairie or down 
into the valley of the stream, never by any human pos¬ 
sibility appealing for sympathy, never under any circum¬ 
stances showing the faintest inclination to resent. 

And yet this lack of self-assertion arose from no ap¬ 
parent physical defect. Robberts had been marked from 
the very first by the trimness of his figure and the some¬ 
what refined cast of his features. He had great, dark, 
pathetic eyes,—eyes that had a pleading, yet hopeless 
look about them at times. He had well-shaped, slender 
hands, and a delicate mouth under the curling brown 
mustache, yet there was a strength and sinew in his build 
and a general “ set up” that hinted at possibility for self- 


58 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


defense of which his tormentors seemed to think him 
destitute. His language, when he spoke at all, was in 
low, hesitant tone, but the few words were those of a 
man of education, and of a higher social plane than was 
to be expected in the rank and file. His signature at¬ 
tached to his enlistment papers and the clothing receipt- 
book was one that warranted the response of “ clerk" 
to the query of the recruiting officer as to his occupa¬ 
tion. In other respects, however, his replies to that 
functionary had not been as free from criticism. He 
had given his name as John Robberts, and so spelled it. 
He had pronounced himself thirty years of age at date 
of enlistment, and had accredited to a bustling, booming 
Western town the honor of his birthplace. That he 
had herein been guilty of a glaring anachronism was a 
matter that escaped the attention of an official as far from 
the scene of action to which his recruit was to be called 
as he was “ away off” in his own geography. Rob¬ 
berts might well be thirty years of age; he looked it; 
but if so he could not have been born in a town whose 
first stake was only driven in 1859, f° r this was the Cen¬ 
tennial year. 

It was the regimental quartermaster who first called 
attention to this discrepancy in Robberts’s official account 
of himself, but by the time the discovery was made 
the garrison had ceased to care whether Robberts was 
born in Sioux City or Samaria. He was the source of 
untold entertainment to a prairie populace of some six 
hundred souls, and the fact that he had lied about the 
date and place of his nativity could not invalidate the 
fact of his formal enlistment. Indeed, by this time the 
quartermaster himself would have deeply lamented any 


WOBBERTS. 


59 


action on his part which might have led to the loss of 
Robberts. The man had proved valuable as a clerk and 
accountant, and in two months from his arrival at the 
frontier fort was the possessor of a comfortable berth 
in the office, a place on the extra-duty pay-roll, and a 
new and universally accepted name. 

An old English soldier was the quartermaster, a man 
who had come from the mother-country in youthful 
days; had enlisted forthwith in the United States army, 
and before he had worn the Yankee troopers’ dress a 
week was believed to have deserted from Her Britannic 
Majesty’s Dragoon Guards. That, however, was no¬ 
body’s business but his own, and whatever he may have 
been in his own country, the Briton proved faithful under 
the stars and stripes, won his chevrons in short order, 
won promotion to the rank and pay of sergeant in less 
than a year; won the pay of more than a dozen ser¬ 
geants in much less time, but that was in the exercise 
of talents which, while they might have been profes¬ 
sional, were not necessarily martial. He invested his 
savings—and the losings of his associates—in real estate 
and paid the taxes out of the same fund. The outbreak 
of the war came at a time when the government needed 
officers, and so appointed a large number from the ranks, 
among them the Briton. He served his adopted country 
well wherever he could get a berth at disbursing, re¬ 
cruiting, or commissary duty, but avoided the dangers 
and dissipations of the field. He was in his element as 
a garrison quartermaster and happy in that position in 
1876, perfectly content with the world which had so 
abundantly rewarded his thrifty habits, and taking huge 
comfort in his home and household. As he advanced 


6o 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


in years the quartermaster became more and more cere¬ 
monious and precise in manner. He dressed with in¬ 
finite care, and endeavored by every means in the power 
of his tailor to correct those ravages of time which are 
apparent in expansions below the belt. He was grow¬ 
ing deaf, which he declined to admit. He was growing 
irritable, which he flatly denied. He had always been 
the victim of a vocal or lingual impediment which made 
him hate the letter “ r” as much as the oyster is sup¬ 
posed to love it. Earnestly he strove to conceal the 
defect. He so ordered the conversation of his daily life 
that only through circumstances over which he had no 
control did the letter “r” appear in any word he used. 
He could sometimes manage to glide over the difficulty 
when the letter appeared in mid-word, so to speak, but 
when a name began with “ r” the quartermaster availed 
himself of any dodge before he would attempt it. His 
distress when Royston took command of the regiment 
was something pathetic but short-lived, for Royston— 
worse luck for us—was promoted before his leaves turned 
copper-color through the frosting silver. He had old 
Sergeant Harriman relieved from duty in the quarter¬ 
master’s department for no other reason than that he 
simply could not pronounce his name without somebody’s 
snickering, and nothing but the fact that he was in sore 
straits for a clerk would have induced him to accept the 
services of this shy, silent new-comer. He wanted to 
send him back the moment he heard his name; but the 
colonel told him flatly it was Robberts or nobody, and 
the quartermaster surrendered. 

And yet within a week he declared the man invalu¬ 
able ; he wrote a beautiful hand, was quick and accurate 


WOBBERTS 


6l 


at figures, and was highly intelligent,—evidently a man 
of education. 

And now, given a sunshiny corner in the storehouse 
office, with no one to badger or annoy, no one to ridi¬ 
cule, no restive horses to groom with numbed and unac¬ 
customed fingers, no squad drill and rasping corporals, 
no bucking steeds and aching bones; given presently a 
little bunk of his own to sleep in there at the office, and 
an hour or two in which to amuse himself during the 
late afternoon, Robberts began to pick up flesh and 
color. It was then that he seemed to be “ taking notice” 
for the first time, and then that others besides the rough 
troopers began to take notice of him. His hours of 
labor were over at four p.m., just about the time the en¬ 
tire force of officers and men would be wending its way 
down to the stables; and on pleasant days the entire 
array of garrison children would be frolicking about the 
band-stand on the parade, while their mammas were 
sauntering from piazza to piazza making calls, or, bow- 
ered under their own sparse vine and fig-tree, entertain¬ 
ing visitors from the post or from town. It was then 
that the solitary form of the shy, brown-eyed recruit 
would be noted wandering off across the prairie, his 
well-knit frame silhouetted against the low horizon,—a 
dreamy, dawdling, aimless sort of object, despite the 
soldier dress, which fitted him so singularly well. The 
nurse-maid at the surgeon’s quarters, indeed, the doc¬ 
tor’s pretty wife herself, were not slow to observe how 
regularly he came sauntering forth, all alone, and, strol¬ 
ling away from the busy haunts of men, away from the 
trails or bridle-paths where he might be apt to have to 
greet some one, away among the tiny mounds of the 

6 


62 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


prairie-dog village, whose yelping sentries became at last 
so accustomed to his harmless invasion of their guarded 
land that they no longer cared to dive into their bur¬ 
rows, but, perched on their hind legs, kept up their 
querulous bark and challenge as though demanding of 
him some sign of interest or curiosity. Cosette, Mrs. 
Doctor Pease’s trim nurse-maid, was soon so much in¬ 
terested in the movements of the shy stranger with the 
pathetic brown eyes that she had taken to trundling her 
little charges out on the prairie at the very time that it 
was his wont to issue forth; and no sooner did Robberts 
become aware of this piece of feminine strategy than he 
gained the northward prairie by a still wider detour , and 
Mrs. Pease was compelled to forbid Cosette’s going out 
so far. By this time Robberts was known as “ the her¬ 
mit.” He sought no associates, made no friends, shrank 
from all companionship, ate, when he could, alone, slept 
alone, lived alone, worked as much as possible alone. 
Never, by any chance, did he enter the garrison proper; 
never was he seen among the little group of extra-duty 
men in some sunny corner on the bright spring morn¬ 
ings, Watching parade or guard-mounting. Never did he 
ask for or receive letters from anybody. If Robberts 
sought a favor from man or woman, it seemed only this 
—to be let alone. 

Quartermaster-Sergeant Owen was a man with an eye 
to the main chance. He was quick to note Robberts’s 
industry and capacity, quick to add new tasks to the 
work cut out for him, and to discover that, no matter 
how intricate might be the form or paper required, a few 
minutes’ silent study made the new clerk master of it. 
He rarely asked a question; he never laughed; it was 


WOBBERTS. 


63 


long before any one even saw him smile. Owen got to 
loading Robberts’s desk with papers which it was his own 
business to make out, and then to telling the quarter¬ 
master that Robberts merely copied the originals, which 
was a lie that the quartermaster was not long in finding 
out. It did not much lower Owen in his regard, but it 
raised Robberts; and little by little the quartermaster 
got to giving his instructions direct to the clerk, instead 
of transmitting them through the sergeant. When no 
officers were around and he thought himself unheard 
except by two or three clerks, it was the quartermaster’s 
habit to summon him himself, possibly for practice, as 
Demosthenes used to make his speeches with a mouth¬ 
ful of pebbles. Manfully did he strive to master that 
obstreperous “ r.” Throwing himself back in his chair, 
fixing his eyes on the top rail of his desk, concentrating 
every energy on the attempt, he would suddenly give 
voice to something like this: 

“ R-r-r-r-r-r-Wobbuts!” 

Magnificent as a beginning, lamentably abortive as a 
conclusion. There would be heard a smothered laugh 
behind the board partition where the clerks sat, where¬ 
upon the red features of the quartermaster would wax 
redder, and then “ Wobbuts” would come silently to the 
door and await his superior’s directions. 

For three weeks nearly was the old quartermaster 
happy in the possession of this paragon of a clerk who 
never spoke, never scratched, never blotted, never 
blurred, never smoked, chewed, drank, gambled, swore, 
or sulked, and then came pay-day and disillusion— 
“ Wobbuts” was gone. 

“Hi say,” shouted the frolicsome trumpeter of “ B” 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


64 

Troop, poking his head into the company quarters the 
day after the distribution of funds, “ hany of you fel¬ 
lows seen hanythink of Wobbuts, you know ? Hit’s old 
Beef and Beer what wants ’im.” 

But nobody had. Together with the men of his 
troop he had marched to the pay-table, had silently 
taken the little packet of greenbacks and silver handed 
out to him by the paymaster; had attempted to bolt out 
of the wrong door and stumbled over a chair, turning 
crimson with confusion when the sergeant shouted, 
“ This way, Robberts!”; had thrust the money without 
counting it into a side pocket and walked straight away 
towards the office. Stout Mrs. Malone, the veteran 
laundress of Troop " B,” stood at the door of her hos¬ 
pitable little hut for an hour that afternoon, according to 
her custom, welcoming each man by name as he came 
down the hill to pay his little wash bill. Etiquette on 
that point was precise in “ B” Troop in those days: not a 
drink, not a diversion, until Mrs. Malone was “ squared,” 
and that genial amazon hailed each new arrival. 

“ Good-day to ye, Mr. Boland. Sure your mother 
would be proud of the red in them cheeks. The com¬ 
pliments of the sason to ye, Sergeant Moriarity. Sure 
the new chiverones is beautiful. Walk right in, gintle- 
men! You’ll find Mick and a fine bowl at the table.” 

Honest woman ! She had the hoith of “ B” Troop’s 
custom and kept it, and the “ byes,” as she lovingly called 
them, rarely, if ever, failed to pay their visit and first 
dollar to her, then to step inside her humble roof, re¬ 
move the forage-cap, and duck the head as they drank 
her health in little cups of fiery punch which Mick dis¬ 
pensed with lavish hands. Half an hour after the arrival 


WOBBERTS. 65 

of the first man her list of some thirty names was checked 
off as paid, with a single exception,—Robberts. 

“ It’s that good-looking recruit in the quartermaster’s, 
Mick,” she said; “ why ain’t he come. Sure he don’t 
look like a dhrinking man.” 

“ Oh, he’s nawthin’,” answered Mick, with a trooper’s 
high disdain of a mere scrivener. “ He’s gone to the 
office again, and doesn’t know the rules of genteel and 
polite society. I’ll remind him after stables,” he said, as 
the trumpets sounded their lively call, and the men in 
their white frocks and overalls came pouring forth from 
the barracks up the slope. 

But there was no need. Mrs. Malone was counting 
over her gains after a quiet sip or two of the punch. 
The long white columns had tramped on down to the 
stables, and then a solitary soldier came and tapped 
shyly at the door. 

“ It’s you, is it, Misther Robberts ? Welcome in, sir. 
Sure we missed you when the troop was all here. Take 
the gintleman’s cap, Norah, and give him your own tay- 
cup, child.” And Norah, a seventeen-year-old sprig of 
the sod, bustled, blushing, from the low stool where she 
was paring potatoes, and wiped the chair with her apron 
and looked shyly up into the dark, pathetic eyes of the 
tall yooing trooper in the door-way. But Robberts red¬ 
dened back to his very ears. 

“ I can’t,” he said, with a deprecatory motion of the 
hand. “I just came to—oh, here’s the money!” he 
broke off suddenly, laid a little stack of coin on the 
table, and vanished. 

No one saw Robberts for forty-eight hours after that, 
and then old Blue Peter, who lived at the half-way house, 

e 6 * 


66 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


so-called, drove out with a limp burden in his cart, and 
dumped it on the guard-house porch. It was Robberts, 
dead drunk. 

It took four days after this episode before Robberts 
was well enough to go to work again. They had to 
take him into the hospital, so keen were his sufferings on 
coming to. The quartermaster gravely told him he 
had begged him off from court-martial and punishment 
this time, as it was the first offense; but he must be on 
his guard in the future. Robberts was all penitence, 
though he made no protest. He assented by implication 
only to the suggestion that it was indeed a first offense. 
He knew nothing whatever that had happened. He 
only had some twelve dollars after paying the laundress 
and tailor, and it was gone to the last cent. Peter said 
he had been sleeping in the ditch near his place for 
nearly twenty-four hours. 

In two weeks more the quartermaster paid off the 
extra-duty men. Robberts silently took his ten dollars, 
and this time he was found in the creek valley half-way 
to town with an empty whiskey bottle by his side and the 
cattle browsing peacefully about him. Then he lasted 
six weeks more, diligent, silent, devoted to his work, and, 
on one or two rare occasions, was even heard singing 
softly to himself. Then came the paymaster’s next visit. 

“ Mind you now, Wobbuts, if you’re drunk this time, 
it’s all up wid ye,” said Sergeant Owen. And Robberts 
flushed, but made no reply. 

Some twenty dollars were handed to him by the pay¬ 
master. He marched away without a word to any one, 
slunk down to Mrs. Malone’s, placed her money on the 
window-sill with a shy bow, and disappeared. 


WOBBERTS. 


6 ; 

That night four or five jovial troopers, in town on pass, 
burst in at the Alhambra, and there, seated all by him¬ 
self at a little table close to the orchestrion, beating 
maudlin time to the strains of The Beautiful Blue 
Danube, with glazed and vacant eyes, but in a perfectly 
immaculate new white shirt which his blouse was thrown 
open to display, was Robberts. They accosted him 
with good-natured raillery, but he did not know them. 
He seemed utterly engrossed in the music of the wheezy, 
clanging old instrument, several of whose pipes were 
perforated by the bullets of jocular practitioners, and 
whose finer chords were long since cracked out of all 
harmony. He was singing away in a voice really sweet, 
despite its drunken drone. He paid no attention to 
them, refused to leave with them, and eventually retired 
for the night upon the sanded floor beneath the table. 
A patrol from the post brought him back with other 
recalcitrants, and poor Robberts had a fit of the horrors 
in the guard-house; was tried by court-martial afterwards 
and sentenced to fine, but again the quartermaster needed 
and pleaded for him. He was back at his desk at the 
end of the week, and back at the Alhambra on the fol¬ 
lowing Sunday, having pawned his white shirt for the 
means to revisit that confounded orchestrion. Once 
more was he landed in the guard-house; once more was 
he tried, fined, and released; once more the extra-duty 
pay furnished him funds for another raid to town; and 
this time he was gone two days and nights before re¬ 
capture, and the colonel ordered him returned to his 
troop for duty as soon as he had served out his time in 
the guard-liouse. 

A whole week poor Robberts plodded about the post 


68 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


in rear of the police-cart, carrying wood and cleaning 
up the back yards, and the expression in his eyes was 
something that haunted all who saw them. He had 
come to the last day of his incarceration and had stag¬ 
gered into the doctor’s shed with a big load of fire-wood, 
when the doctor’s little girl, watching him wistfully from 
the kitchen door, said to Cosette,— 

“ Oh, he’s cut his hand!” And so he had, or, acci¬ 
dentally, a clumsy comrade had done it for him. 

Now Cosette was a timorous creature, one whom the 
sight of blood, or a mouse, made deathly sick. It was 
the doctor’s wife herself who came out in answer to 
Flossy’s tearful announcement that “ Poor Wobberts 
had cut himself and was all blood.” Robberts by this 
time was pleading with the sentry to let him go over to 
the hospital just a minute. “On my word,” he said, 
“ I’ll come right back as soon as this is stanched.” 
But the sentry was a raw German youth who knew 
nothing outside of his orders. He had three prisoners 
in charge, and he couldn’t let one of them go. Next, 
Robberts’s face was almost as red as the stream now drip¬ 
ping from the wound, for Mrs. Pease had unhesitatingly 
stepped into the back yard, linen bandages in hand, and 
had accosted him: 

“ Robberts, my poor fellow, how did you get such a 
cut ? Come here to the pump, instantly.” And Rob¬ 
berts obeyed. In another moment she had sent Cosette 
to the steward for lint, and then had carefully washed 
the gaping cut in cool water; had drawn the lips together 
and fastened them in place with adhesive plaster; had 
dressed, bandaged and then slung the injured hand, 
while the sentinel and the man whose awkward act had 


WOBBERTS. 


69 

made the gash stood stupidly by. And then she looked 
in the face, so flushed a moment ago, and saw that he was 
now deathly white, his eyes closing. Making him sit 
down, she ran into the house. When she came out the 
sentry had handed him a big dipper of water; but she 
held a glass brimming with sherry. 

“ Drink this, my poor fellow,” she said; “you are faint, 
and I don’t wonder.—Here, you hold it for him, Flossy, 
dear, while I call Cosette and send her for papa.” 

But when Mrs. Pease came back the wine stood in the 
glass untasted, and Robberts was leaning against the 
gate-post a dozen yards away, still white and faint. 
Flossy was half ready to cry. 

“He wouldn’t touch it, mamma. He said, ‘No, no,’ 
and began to cry, and thea he put his other arm round 
me and kissed me and said he had a little sister once, 
and then he heard you coming and he hurried over 
there.” 

Presently Pease came in,—a burly, kindly fellow,— 
and took Robberts, sentry, prisoners, and all over to the 
dispensary, and then a whole week Robberts was kept in 
the hospital, for the surgeon said he couldn’t go to duty 
with that hand, and his ten days in the guard-house had 
expired. A whole week of clean, airy room, of blessed 
quiet, free from the torment and racket of the barracks, 
or the shameful degradation of the guard-house cells; a 
whole week in which to rest and read and stroll out on 
the sunshiny prairie, and gather little nosegays of the 
wild prairie flowers, and, on his homeward way, shyly 
to hand them to little Flossy, who was sure to be play¬ 
ing about the gate. Once he came suddenly upon Mrs. 
Pease herself, and turned red as fire, and a big lump 


7 o 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


rose in his throat, and the big brown eyes grew troubled 
and humid; and he took off his forage-cap, and then 
quickly clapped it on again, as though wondering had he 
a right to bow to a lady, and then he scudded away, for¬ 
getting the flowers that he had dropped. 

And then his hand healed and they sent him back to 
barracks, and once more the misery of the rough troop- 
life began again ; only when the day was done, only after 
dark now, could he come wandering out upon the prairie; 
but there was no little Flossy to be seen then. 

The captain of “ B” Troop had good reason to pride 
himself on the general efficiency and discipline of his 
men ; but he sometimes made mistakes. 

“ Don’t give that fellow Robberts a chance to get 
drunk this time, sergeant,” he said, when the paymaster’s 
coming was again announced. “ There won’t be more 
than ten dollars due him,—all the rest is gone in fines. 
Just clap him into the guard-house as soon as he misses 
a single roll-call.” It was done; and when Robberts 
was released the next day he marched straight down to 
the stables instead of to the quarters ; was dragged out 
from under the hay-stacks at four o’clock, drunk as a 
lord; was carried up to the guard-house in the police 
cart; suffered, heaven only knows what agony in the 
reaction that set in, and was ordered by Captain Buxton, 
officer of the day, into the cells while he was still in 
desperate shape. Lieutenant Blake, who relieved Bux¬ 
ton next morning, heard moaning in the cell-room, had 
poor Robberts brought to light and promptly trundled 
over to Pease at the hospital, who told Buxton he had 
wellnigh killed the man, which did Pease good, but was 
a bad thing for Robberts, as it made Buxton hate him; 


WOBBERTS. 


71 


and when Buxton got down on a man, officer or soldier, 
he could make it hot for him somehow, and generally 
managed to do it. A coarse-moulded, loud-voiced, harsh- 
mannered man was Buxton, whom nobody liked; but he 
was one of the senior captains and had power. 

When Robberts came out of hospital this time and was 
sent back to the troop he had not a cent of money, and 
had to serve several days at hard labor again. He im¬ 
plored the sergeant not to send him around the officers’ 
yards, but to put him at anything else, and the sergeant 
did his best for the poor fellow. Then they took him into 
the troop office, where help was needed on the muster- 
rolls, and here, with no money to spend on whiskey, and 
lots of congenial work to do, Robberts again seemed to 
be behaving well. He was so accurate and helpful in all 
the papers that the first sergeant wondered that they had 
never tried him before. 

“Just keep straight next pay-day, Robberts, and I’ll get 
you on permanent daily duty,” he said. And Robberts 
turned red, but made no reply. He had only five or ten 
dollars coming to him this time, and the weather was 
getting bitter cold now, and the days were short and 
dark. He got his money just before stable-call; paid 
Mrs. Malone her little bill; dodged the invitation to sip 
her punch; was present at retreat roll-call and supper, 
but absent at tattoo. 

Three days passed. Not a sign had been seen of Rob¬ 
berts. The blankets were gone from his bunk. The 
patrols could find nothing of him in town and hear 
nothing of him anywhere. Old Blue Peter confessed 
that he had sold him two bottles of whiskey, a loaf of 
rye bread, and a pound of cheese pay-day night, with 


72 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


which he had gone he knew not where. Just as the 
sergeants were forming their companies for stable duty 
on the afternoon of the third day there was the most 
unauthorized burst of merriment from “ B ” Troop, loud 
and long continued. An odd-looking bundle was seen 
working itself out into the light through an old trap or 
opening leading into the dry, dark, and empty space be¬ 
tween the flooring and the ground at the gable end of 
the company quarters. First a gray blanket or two was 
shoved through, and then, dishevelled, dirty, unkempt, 
but only half drunk, Robberts crawled forth into the 
light; staggered to his feet, stood swaying a moment, 
listening with maudlin dejection to the derisive shouts 
with which he was greeted, and then with the same 
old gesture, raising one hand to his weak mouth and 
giving a deprecatory wave with the other, he started to 
shamble off behind the barracks, but was intercepted by 
a quick leap of the young lieutenant who suddenly 
appeared. 

“ Send this man to the guard-house at once, sergeant. 
Gather up those things of his, some of you.” 

And now, for the first time in his history, poor Robberts 
gave tongue. Wringing his hands, bursting into tears, 
in piteous accents he pleaded,— 

“ Not to the guard-house, lieutenant; please don’t; oh, 
please don’t. I’ll die there. I’m all broken, sir. I’m 
only a poor broken-down fellow that never harmed man 
or woman, but myself. Let me off this time, for God’s 
sake do, and I’ll give no more trouble. I’ll get my dis¬ 
charge, sir; I can do it anytime. Don’t send me to the 
guard-house, please, and you won’t regret it, sir. I prom¬ 
ise it—I promise it —on the honor of a gentleman .” 


WOBBERTS. 


7 3 


The din and laughter and fun had stopped. A strange 
hush had come suddenly over the crowd of rugged 
troopers,—none really unkind, yet none exactly sympa¬ 
thetic. There swayed poor Robberts, wringing his dirty 
hands, tears streaming down the grimy cheeks, the once 
handsome, pathetic brown eyes all bleared and swollen ; 
and there before him stood the precise young soldier, 
with his pale, clear-cut, intellectual face, every item of 
his attire so trim and neat, every movement so brisk and 
military. Yet now he stood speechless and disarmed. 
For a moment more no one spoke. The lieutenant’s 
outstretched hand fell slowly to his side, and at last, 
slowly, he said,— 

“ Upon my soul, Robberts, I don’t know what to make 
of you. I’ve a half a mind to take you at your word.” 

It was just then that Buxton came shouldering his 
way through the crowd, roughly ordering the men to 
stand back. 

“ Got that damned, worthless drunkard here again, 
have you ?” he exclaimed. “ If he was in my troop, I’d 
straighten him out or kill him, one of the two.” 

“ Be kind enough to let me attend to this matter, as it 
is not your troop, Buxton,” was heard at this juncture, 
in the placid tones of Captain Raymond. “Sergeant, 
form your men. Mr. Dana, I will look after Robberts.” 

And, not sorry to have the matter thus disposed of, 
the lieutenant touched his cap and sprang away. 

Just what argument Raymond brought to bear with 
the chief we did not hear; but Robberts was not sent 
to the guard-house until sobered up by the doctor and 
ready for trial. Captain Buxton, however, came in for a 
rasping from the colonel, who invited him in pointed 
d 7 


74 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


terms to pay a little more attention to the affairs of his 
own troop and a little less to those of the other captains, 
whereat “ Bux.” was simply furious, but had to swallow 
it. Then, as the charges accumulated against Robberts 
were now of dimensions that required the action of a 
larger tribunal, they were referred by the judge-advocate 
of the department to a general court just convened, of 
which Captain Buxton was president; and great was the 
president’s wrath when the prisoner in low tone, but with 
decided emphasis, announced that he objected to being 
tried by Captain Buxton, because of “ bias, prejudice, and 
threatening language on several occasions.” He was 
still more wrathful when the court almost instantly sus¬ 
tained the objection, and he was excused from service 
on the case. And then, while the proceedings were 
being reviewed at department head-quarters, there came 
sudden orders which took four companies into the field 
in pursuit of a wily and desperate band of Cheyennes. 
It was an awful winter; storms, blizzards, and cold waves 
came in quick succession. There were some men who 
protested they couldn’t go, and one was Buxton, and 
were excused by the surgeon. There was one trooper 
awaiting sentence in the guard-house who begged that 
he might go, and that was Robberts. The colonel told 
Raymond to take him anyhow, and telegraphed his action 
to Omaha. Four months were they gone, and Stan- 
nard’s battalion never had a tougher trip. Dozens of 
men were frozen; scores of horses perished ; and in the 
one sharp fight they had—fought out in the teeth of a 
driving storm—the Cheyennes got rather the best of it. 
Only some dozen men of Raymond’s troop could push 
ahead in pursuit that night, but Robberts was one. Only 


WOBBERTS. 


7 5 


half of that dozen came back at the end of the campaign. 
Three were killed, three left wounded in hospital up near 
the Sioux agency, and one of these latter was Robberts— 
shot through the left side when riding back with de¬ 
spatches. “ The worst thing about it all was,” said jovial 
old Captain Miles, “ that we never got a drink of whiskey 
the whole trip.” It was desolation to Miles, but the 
making of Robberts. Raymond had made him corporal 
after the fight, and intimated that he could look higher 
as soon as he rejoined at Russell. 

It was a bitter day in March when Robberts finally 
reappeared at the post. He looked gaunt and thin, but 
a very different man. Now the brown eyes had a frank, 
fearless way of gazing straight into other people’s, as 
though he would say, “ I’m quite your equal.” He had 
won the respect of Stannard’s whole command by his 
conduct on the campaign. He had been just as silent 
and undemonstrative as ever, but ready for any duty, no 
matter how perilous, and had gone about it in a way 
that at first gave rise to the suspicion that he had no 
sense of danger at all. As Sergeant Murphy expressed 
it, “ He doesn’t know enough about the business to be 
afraid.” But when they came upon the gashed and 
mutilated bodies of women and children, slaughtered by 
the Indians in their rush, men who saw Robberts’s face 
concluded that he understood more than they thought. 
From that time he was eager to join every pursuing 
party, eager for a place on every scout. He was per¬ 
haps the only man who didn’t cheer and yell like mad 
the day they stormed the Cheyenne village; but he was 
ever with the foremost line, silent, vengeful, with burn¬ 
ing eyes and compressed lips. They had simply to 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


;6 

drag him back when it was found that the Indians were 
intrenched in a position too strong to be carried by 
assault. 

And now an odd problem presented itself. Here was 
a man wearing the chevrons of a corporal, awarded him 
for gallant conduct in a fierce campaign, wounded and 
much respected, and here were orders from department 
head-quarters sentencing him to two weeks’ hard labor in 
charge of the guard, and a fine of thirty dollars. The 
command was paid off just about as he came in, and Cap¬ 
tain Raymond had positively blushed when he notified 
Corporal Robberts that there was hardly any money 
coming to him. Robberts blushed, too, but saluted and 
said,— 

“It doesn’t matter,” which.astonished everybody. As 
to the rest of the sentence, the colonel wrote to Omaha 
and got it remitted. 

Then, as Robberts could not go on duty yet and had 
much time to himself, it was observed that he resumed 
his solitary strolls on the prairie. It was also observed 
that letters now came regularly from an Eastern city in 
a very pretty and lady-like hand. It was observed that 
about once a week Robberts got permission to ride in 
town with the lumbering old garrison stage-coach, and 
that he deposited his letters in the post-office box him¬ 
self. This was considered by some people at the post 
as taking a mean advantage. 

We were having good fun just then at an improvised 
skating-rink down the valley. The stream had been 
dammed and a space of some six acres flooded and 
frozen. Every afternoon the children were out in force, 
and in the evening the officers and ladies had their turn. 


■ WOBBERTS. 


77 


Cosette was a French Canadian, and could outskate any 
woman at the post, and every afternoon she was the 
centre of attraction at the pond and the object of no 
little envious comment from the other nurse-maids. The 
girl could not help showing off her accomplishments, 
and, as she was rather pretty, decidedly graceful, and had 
a nice foot and ankle, it rather drove the other women 
off the ice. They could see no fun in that sort of thing, 
and strove to interest their charges in something else. 
But it was a new toy, popular among the officers and 
ladies, and so the children were determined. Flossy 
was rapidly learning to skate under so skilled a teacher. 
Pease was a devoted believer in outdoor life, and Cosette 
was allowed her way. For a time Robberts steered 
clear of the bluffs overlooking the pond; but presently 
there came a thaw, a rain, another freeze, a new sheet 
of ice and more magnificent skating than ever, only the 
ice was pronounced thin and dangerous near the dam 
and over the deep part of the pond. The quartermaster 
had a danger-pole put there, and everybody kept away 
but Cosette. Cosette revelled in the perilous joy of 
skating over that thin sheet at full speed, especially now 
that she saw that Corporal Robberts, company clerk, 
was looking on. In vain people warned. Cosette would 
take lessons from nobody. She preferred a cold bath to 
caution; and one afternoon she got it. There was a 
crack and then a splash, a stifled scream, and Cosette 
had disappeared in a whirl of black, troubled water. She 
bobbed up in a minute, gasping, and clutching at the 
nearest ice, which, of course, broke and let her down 
again, and by this time most of the other nurse-maids 
and children were scurrying screaming away,—all but 

7 * 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


78 

little Floss. With an impulse of affection and heroism 
beyond her years, the child had made a rush as though 
to save her nurse, and reached the verge just in time to 
be tumbled in with the second break. Three or four 
soldiers, who happened to be looking on at the upper 
end of the pond, ran to the hay-stack fence for a heavy 
plank. One or two ladies whose children were out of 
danger promptly fainted. A carriage-load of officers 
driving back from town seemed to divine that something 
was wrong and came lashing across the prairie. But 
Robberts had charged down the bluff straight as a dart; 
had plunged into the icy pool with a prodigious splash, 
and in another moment reappeared with Flossy in his 
arms. A few vigorous kicks brought him and his 
terror-stricken little friend across the pool to a point 
where the ice was solid, and here, somehow, he man¬ 
aged to toss her out upon the surface, where she was 
picked up by the men who came running to the scene, 
and then bundled into the buffalo-robes dragged from 
the carriage by four or five lively young officers, who 
lent a hand in helping land the next victim ; and with 
chattering teeth and clattering tongue, Cosette was 
hauled ashore from Robberts’s dripping arms. The 
driver was bidden to rush them post-haste to the doc¬ 
tor’s quarters, and then everybody clustered around 
Robberts, who with blue lips and shivering limbs seemed 
mutely striving to decline all aid, and to make a break 
for home and dry clothes. 

It was just at this instant that Captain Buxton burst 
upon the group, and then occurred a conversation that 
was told all over the post inside of an hour, and is one 
of the traditions yet. 


WOBBERTS. 


79 


“ I saw it,” said he. “ I saw the whole thing, though I 
was too far away to help. My God, Robberts ! if it was 
any other man in the garrison but you, I’d offer him a 
drink.” Two of the lieutenants whirled away in dis¬ 
gust,—and whirled about again in amaze, for the chatter 
of his teeth seemed suddenly to cease. It was through 
them, firmly clinched, that Robberts replied,— 

“ And by God, sir, if any other man but you was to 
offer it, I’d take it.” 

Buxton, it was said, actually thought Robberts ought 
to be court-martialed for insubordination, but some of 
the clerks who overheard the colloquy between him and 
the colonel on the subject, swore delightedly that the 
“ old man” told him he was served perfectly right. 

It was Mrs. Pease now who was Robberts’s most de¬ 
voted nurse in the two or three days the surgeon made 
him stay in hospital after this episode. Captain Ray¬ 
mond came around to tell him he would be made ser¬ 
geant in another year if he continued in well-doing. 
But Robberts smiled and shook his head. Pressed for 
an explanation, he said he didn’t think he would remain 
in the service very long, and Raymond, though a kind 
fellow, felt that his authority was being a little trespassed 
upon. He didn’t see how one of the men could be dis¬ 
charged without his knowledge and consent. 

And yet he was. The colonel had recommended that 
a medal of honor be awarded two of the non-commis¬ 
sioned officers of Stannard’s command, and Robberts 
was one of them. These reached the post early in June, 
and the colonel ordered the whole command, equipped 
for field service as it was and just going out for the 
summer, to form line on the broad parade; but that 


8o 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


very afternoon there came a telegraphic order something 
to this effect: “ Corporal John Robberts, Troop ‘ B/ will 
not take the field with the battalion. Discharge orders 
by mail.” And though Robberts appeared, covered 
with blushes and confusion, and had his medal pinned 
on his breast by the colonel himself, he went off and 
hid somewhere that evening, and only turned up in time 
to say a shy good-by to some few of the men to whom 
he had begun to take a fancy. The post-adjutant sent 
for him the next afternoon, showed him the order that 
had arrived by mail and his final statements. 

“ I’m sorry there’s so little money due you, Robberts,” 
he said. “ I fancy your home is far away and you may 
need help to get there.” 

“ Thank you, sir, I don’t need money,” he said. Then 
he stumbled and hesitated. “ Can I go now, sir ?” he 
finally managed to ask. 

And that evening, as Cosette was trundling the baby 
home in the carriage and levelling shrill and voluble ex¬ 
postulations at the older children, who should suddenly 
step out from the fence corner, seize little Flossy in his 
arms and kiss her tenderly half a dozen times, but Rob¬ 
berts ? And then, setting her down without a word to 
the others, he hastened away. Cosette rebuked her 
charge and reported the affair with native asperity and 
exaggeration to her mistress. But what angered Cosette 
was the fact that it was Flossy, not she, who received 
this parting salute. 

No one saw Robberts off, no one knew when or which 
way he went. It was reported that he lay around town 
drunk for three days, but the report proved utterly untrue. 
He did not even drop in at the Alhambra. 


WOBBERTS. 


8 l 


Then an odd thing happened. Flossy’s birthday 
came on the 17th of the month, and on the 16th there 
reached the post one of the most wonderful dolls ever 
seen, with several costumes in miniature steamer trunks, 
all packed in one big box and expressed from Chicago,— 
a beautiful and costly present, attributed at first to a cer¬ 
tain wealthy aunt of Mrs. Pease, but in two weeks came 
her denial. Then, Lieutenant Dana received a pair of 
fine field-glasses, and next, Captain Raymond a box of 
the choicest cigars. No explanation with either. And 
when Christmas came there were some lovely gifts for 
the quartermaster’s daughters, as well as another beauti¬ 
ful remembrance for Flossy. Then people began to 
wonder if the mysterious Robberts had not come into a 
fortune, and, like a second “ Coal-Oil Johnny,” was bent 
on giving it away. Influence there certainly must have 
been among his people, for the order for his discharge 
had come direct from the office of the Secretary of War; 
but no one could tell anything about him; no one knew 
where he had gone or what had become of him; and in 
the course of another year most people had ceased to 
think about “ Wobberts” at alt. 

Two years after the Cheyenne raid, Doctor Pease was 
transferred to a pleasant station on the Atlantic sea¬ 
board, and very frequently Mrs. Pease and Flossy were 
enabled to spend the day with him in the city, visiting 
objects of interest, attending the matin&e , etc.; and one 
bright April evening, as the huge ferry-boat was plowing 
its way through the dark waters and bearing its load of 
passengers to the waiting trains on the farther shore, 
Flossy became suddenly interested in the movements of 
a rather tall, stylishly dressed, well-built man, who was 
/ 


82 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


attending a very pretty girl, yet not a very young one. 
She had a sweet face, but one on which care and sorrow 
had left their records in the past, howsoever placid it 
might be now. They were standing neaj the bows of 
the boat when Flossy first caught sight of them; but a 
sudden flurry of rain drove them back for shelter, and 
as they came towards the doctor’s party Flossy darted 
forward with one low, glad cry,—“ Wobberts! it’s my 
Wobberts!” and the next instant the tall man in the 
stylish garb had bent, clasped the little maiden in his 
arms, and was kissing her again and again. Then he 
arose, simply saying,— 

“ Don’t you know who this must be, Mabel ?” But 
the dark brown eyes were wet with tears, and tears that 
brimmed over as the young lady, too, seized the child in 
her arms and held her, shy and wondering, to her heart. 
It was then that Mrs. Pease stepped forward, smiling. 

“It must be, and yet I think I should hardly have 
known you. Your beard, I suppose,” she faltered. 

“ It is I,” answered the gentleman, as he raised a very 
neat silk hat. “Yet not Robberts, exactly. Mabel, 
dear, this is my kind friend, Mrs. Pease. Mrs. Pease, my 
sister, Miss Marvin. Doctor Pease, I had no idea you 
were here, but I am just back from abroad.” 

“ Suppose you introduce yourself, Robert,” suggested 
Miss Marvin, who, ’twixt smiles and tears, was clinging 
with both hands to Mrs. Pease. “ If I hardly knew you, 
how could they ?” 

“ Robert Marvin, doctor, at your service,—but Flossy’s 
‘Wobberts’ always,” he added, as he bent again and 
kissed the wondering little maid. “ Are you stationed 
here in the harbor ?” 


WOBBERTS. 83 

“Yes, at Fort Lawrence, Mr.—Mr.—Marvin. And is 
your home in the city ?” 

“ Not now. Not since my father’s death, eighteen 
months ago. I,” and here he blushed just as vividly 
as of old, “ I am the head of the family now, doctor, 
though only a very complete specimen of a worthless 
son when I knew you on the plains. It was that medal 
that brought forgiveness. I had not seen my father in six 
long years, and Mabel was the only one after mother’s 
death who thought me worth even trying to save; and 
even she had no idea where I had gone for nearly a year 
before that raid. I sent her word after I was wounded.” 

The two men had clasped hands, and Pease would not 
let go. He was studying closely the other’s face. The 
clear, steadfast gaze in the brown eyes was so unlike the 
old furtive, shame-stricken glance. 

“ You are lookmg very well,” he said, tentatively. He 
did not like to ask what was uppermost in his mind. 

“ I am very well, thank you, doctor, very well,” he 
added. “ I have much to live for now, and no desire to 
fall back to the old misery that began in college days and 
ended—God be thanked !—with that winter campaign.” 

“ Gad,” said Pease, reflectively, “ that took the starch 

out of a dozen men I know of; but-,” and he paused, 

irresolutely; he hardly liked to refer to the matter again. 

“ But it gave me a chance to pull out of the rut, you 
are thinking. Aye, doctor, it did, and to restore me to 
health, home, to my father and sister. But the first 
hand that I remember seeing extended to help me out— 
God bless it!—was this.” And like a courtier, Mrs. 
Pease told us afterwards, he bent and raised Flossy’s 
little kid-gloved hand to his lips. 



84 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


THE RUSE OF THE YANKEE CAPTAIN. 

u Deep night.—Dark night, 
******* 

That time best befits the work we have in hand.” 

Shakespeare. 

The slave-trade as it existed upon the west coast of 
Africa during the years 18—, 18—, 18—, was not carried 
on, as is generally supposed by the American public, 
in clipper ships, that were faultless in model as well as 
matchless in speed; on the contrary, old and almost 
unseaworthy vessels were usually employed, and these, 
as far as came under my observation, were owned and 
fitted out for this nefarious traffic by parties residing in 
the United States. 

One instance only occurred during these years in 
which a nearly new and really fine clipper was used for 
“ running a cargo,” and this under the circumstances 
which I am about to narrate. 

Our naval forces on the coast consisted of four sailing- 
vessels, none of them noted for speed; and one, the 
Flag-ship, cruised most of the time among those pleasant 
islands situated on the northern limits of the station, 

“ Where African fever ne’er was known, 

And slavers ne’er were seen.” 

The English naval force was quite formidable, and, 
having a large number of vessels, all steamers, no point 
on the coast was left unguarded, and it was by their 
efforts that the traffic was finally broken up. 


THE RUSE OF THE YANKEE CAPTAIN. 85 

The modtis operandi of slavers was somewhat like 
this. A vessel, costing but a few thousand dollars, 
cleared from some port in the United States—generally 
Charleston, South Carolina, or New York City—for St. 
Thomas and a market; thus either the island of that 
name in the West Indies or the one of the same name 
near the African coast was available. 

The cargo consisted of cheap muskets, gunpowder, 
cotton cloths, trinkets, and rum, for trade and the pur¬ 
chase of slaves. They sometimes also carried lumber 
for the slave-deck, and rice for slave food, but not often, 
as it was hazardous and rendered them liable to seizure 
on suspicion. 

The personnel was one captain and two mates, Ameri¬ 
cans, and a crew of eight or ten, made up from the 
depraved of all nationalities. There were also, as pass¬ 
engers, a supercargo and three other persons, generally 
Spanish. The supercargo held a bill of sale of the ves¬ 
sel, and as soon as the slaves were ready for shipment 
took command (landing the Americans), and appointing 
the passengers as mates and slave-driver. If boarded by 
our cruisers after this change of ownership, we had no 
jurisdiction, unless, as sometimes, they (not knowing 
the nationality) destroyed all papers, and of course were 
then a lawful prize to any cruiser. 

Upon arrival on the coast, these vessels traded from 
point to point, landing goods as needed for the purchase 
of slaves, and agreeing with their agents as to the place 
where these slaves should be collected in a barracoon 
and cared for until ready for shipment. 

Should they be seized by an American cruiser during 
these operations, they had to be sent in charge of a prize 

8 


86 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


crew to the United States, where, after the law’s tedious 
delays, they would either be bonded or cleared by the 
court having jurisdiction. If seized by an English vessel, 
they were turned over to the first American man-of-war 
fallen in with, when the same preceding routine would 
have to be carried out. Owing to this delay and diffi¬ 
culty, the English seldom seized a vessel until the slaves 
were actually on board. When the required number of 
slaves had been collected, the vessel ran a few miles off 
shore during the day, and standing in at night, awaited 
the agreed upon signal informing them that cruisers 
were absent, the “ coast clear,” and a favorable opportu¬ 
nity for shipping the cargo was at hand. Then anchor¬ 
ing close to the beach, in a few hours the living cargo 
was stowed on board, and “ the vessel spreads her wings” 
and is “ off and away,” generally for the “ Ever-faithful 
Isle of Cuba.” 

The English government kept their forces advised in 
advance of the name and description of every vessel 
fitting out in the United States and sailing for the coast, 
this information being sent by consuls in those ports 
whence the vessels departed; all of this information was 
courteously given by the English Flag-officer to the 
officers in command of our ships; and but for this cour¬ 
tesy we should have been completely in the dark regard¬ 
ing suspicious vessels. 

Among the most noted houses in New York engaged 
in fitting vessels out for the coast, with an agency at the 
city of St. Paul de Loando, and with factories established 
at several places along the coast, and also in the interior, 
for the purchase of slaves and storage of goods, was the 
firm of—well, we will ca 1 them “ Smith & Brown.” 


THE RUSE OF THE YANKEE CAPTAIN. 


87 


This firm had been established about two years, and 
during that time had sent four vessels out, each one of 
which had been captured just as the slaves were about 
being shipped; so their papers were destroyed, and they 
became lawful prizes to their English captors. 

The firm also owned, as a regular trader, a beautiful 
clipper named the “ Helen,” which had made several 
trips to and from Loando and New York, bringing goods 
to the agencies of the firm, and carrying return cargoes, 
consisting principally of palm and peanut oils, thus doing 
a perfectly legitimate business. 

This vessel was well known to all “ cruisers,” English 
as well as American, and her captain, “ Jones,” was per¬ 
sonally known to nearly every officer on the station. 

Judge of our surprise on board of the “ V-” when, 

one morning, our captain read to us watch-officers a 
communication from the English commodore, the pur¬ 
port of which was that the “ Helen,” on her return trip 
from the Congo River, was ordered to run a “ cargo of 
ebony" and that she was, on leaving Loando, to proceed 
to that river, fill with slaves, and sail for Cuba. 

As our officers were well acquainted with most of the 
mercantile firms doing business in Loando, they asked 
from several, information on this subject, and it was 
readily admitted that the owners of the “ Helen” had 
ordered Captain Jones, through their agents, to run a 
cargo of slaves, and that his reply had been, “ I did not 
ship for any such work; but, if you will make it an 
object for me to do so, I will try. My terms are two 
thousand pounds sterling, in bills on England, payable 
on demand, to the order of my wife, and in addition to 
this sum, for myself, the usual pay and percentage that 




88 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


is made to captains on their successful landing of a 
cargo.” These terms were acceded to, and when the 
bills of exchange had been handed to Captain Jones he 
mailed them to his wife, and then sailed for the Congo 
River. 

Of course, we overhauled and searched this vessel 
thoroughly, but nothing improper or contraband was 
found on board,—she was all right. On the morning of 
her departure from Loando the English commodore, in 
his Flag-ship, arrived off the port, and when the “ Helen” 
was clear of the harbor and pointed up the coast, started 
with and accompanied her, both vessels “ coming to” near 
Shark’s Point anchorage, inside the mouth of the Congo. 

The English commodore, being quite intimate with 
Captain Jones, then boarded the “ Helen” in person, 
and, after a pleasant luncheon, the following conversa¬ 
tion took place: 

“ I say, Jones, my boy, you know I hear you intend 
taking a cargo of slaves on your homeward trip.” 

“ Is that so, commodore ? Who told you such non¬ 
sense ?” 

“ Now, Jones, it is no use for you to deny it, for my 
informant, you know, is positive about it.” 

“ Well, commodore, since you are so positive, I will 
not deny it; but should I determine to run a cargo, as 
you assert, you are not the fellow to prevent my doing 
so. You would have to get up too early in the morn¬ 
ing.” 

“ Now, Jones, my fine fellow, I’ll prove to you that I 
am the fellow that will get up early enough to prevent 
you ; and, by George, I will stop you ! Good-morning, 


THE RUSE OF THE YANKEE CAPTAIN. 89 

The commodore left in a huff, swearing that he would 
circumvent that infernal Yankee, Jones, if he had to 
place every vessel of his fleet on guard in the Congo. 

The “ Helen,” the next day, ran up the river with the 
sea-breeze, anchoring at a point fifteen miles distant, 
where a factory and agency of the firm was established, 
and the commodore sent for two of his fastest vessels, 
anchoring them, one on each side of the river, just inside 
the mouth, where it is about five miles wide. 

The officers in command of these steamers were or¬ 
dered to have the “ Helen” boarded every day, and to be 
particular to see that she made no arrangements for re¬ 
ceiving slaves, and to report at once when she made any 
preparations for receiving stores, or for sailing. 

As the distance from the blockaders (if I may so term 
the watching vessels) to the “ Helen” was so great, they 
took turns in sending a boat for the boarding duty, which 
boat, leaving the steamer at early daybreak, by pulling 
close in to the river’s bank, and thus avoiding the rapid 
current, would arrive alongside the “ Helen” about ten 
o’clock. On the first day the officer and crew of the 
boat were received on board courteously and treated to 
a good breakfast, after which they started on their re¬ 
turn. On the second day the officer and men of the boat 
received the like treatment, but on the third day “a 
change came o’er the spirit” of those on board the 
“ Helen,” for as soon as they sighted the English boat 
pulling up, and before it came alongside, the American 
flag was hoisted at the peak, and another was draped 
over the gangway. Then Captain Jones, hailing the 
officer in charge of the boat, said, “ This is an American 
vessel. You know it,—your commodore knows it, and 

8 * 


90 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


every one of your officers know it, as well as your crews. 

‘ I know my rights, and, knowing, dare maintain them.' 
Neither you nor any of your crews, nor any other 
Englishman, shall set foot upon the decks of this vessel 
again. I will not be annoyed by your boarding-parties 
any longer. Now , clear out T The officer pulled back 
down the river without a word in reply. 

As the boat turned head, down-stream, the crew of the 
“ Helen” gave one loud, ringing laugh of derision, and 
then, with stentorian voices, sang,— 

“ Oh, Johnny Bull my jo John, 

Your fruitless schemes forego; 

Remain on your fast-anchored ships, 

Oh, Johnny Bull my jo!” 

The next day a boat pulled up the river, but the officer 
in charge contented himself with examining the “ Helen” 
from a short distance and then returned to his vessel. 
Then the “ Helen” began “ stripping ship,” and soon lay 
with “ lower yards down and topmasts housed,” and the 
hull covered with coarse matting, to protect it from the 
intense heat of a tropical sun; then all hands, except a 
ship-keeper, moved on shore, to reside at the factory. 
Days and days passed, a boat regularly pulling up the 
river and observing the dismantled hulk, pulled back to 
their ships, and reported no change. 

This duty at last became so irksome and monotonous, 
that it was asked of the old commodore to let up a little 
on his orders, but he refused to abate a particle, replying 
to the applicant, " that he was not to be gulled.” 

One day, as soon as the visiting boat was out of sight 
on her return, the shore near the " Helen” became alive 


THE RUSE OF THE YANKEE CAPTAIN. 91 

with men, working in gangs, each actively employed ; 
one party boarded the vessel, stripped the mats from the 
hull, and began sending spars aloft and to rig ship. 
Another party brought stores alongside, and another 
party took them on board and stowed them. Every¬ 
thing and everybody worked without confusion; there 
was a master-spirit directing every movement and gov¬ 
erning all, that master-spirit was Captain Jones. 

By sunset the “ Helen" was “ all atanto,” with stores 
on board and sails bent; then began the stowage on 
board of six hundred human beings , each one of whom had 
been selected; this was accomplished by ten p.m. ; then 
the “ Helen" left her moorings, dropped down the river 
noiselessly, as far as the first island, and there filled water- 
casks and awaited the going down of the moon, which 
was to be at 

“ The time when screech-owls cry and bandogs howl.” 

Then, the land-breeze blowing freshly, she slipped away 
from the island; with square yards, mid-channel, she 
drifted, the current and wind carrying her five or six 
knots the hour. At three a.m. she passed the blockaders, 
unseen by any one on board, and when far enough from 
them made sail, and at daylight was but a speck on the 
horizon. A boat left the steamer at the usual hour of 
that morning, but on arriving at the point of observation 
of course no vessel was to be seen. The officer in 
charge rubbed his eyes, looked again, and said, “ I say, 
coxswain, I don’t see that bloody Yankee ship; where 
can she be ?" The boat pulled closer, pulled over the 
spot where the “ Helen" had been moored, pulled to the 
shore, and then /rom the debris to be seen all around, 


92 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


the truth dawned upon them,—they knew that the bird 
had flown. Without a word—speechless from surprise— 
they pulled to their vessel, the officer reporting what 
they had seen , and also what they had not seen. 

Signals were made; each vessel got under way, stood 
to sea, and cruised on different courses, but the slaver 
was not seen; the English commodore had not arisen 
early enough to catch the bloody Yankee. 

As for the “ Helen,” she arrived safely off the coast of 
Cuba and landed her cargo, receiving therefor two 

HUNDRED AND FORTY THOUSAND DOLLARS. 

After all expenses had been paid, including bribes to 
officials in Cuba, the firm of “ Smith & Brown” netted 
one hundred and fifty thousand dollars. The “ Helen” 
after this sailed for New York, but on the passage was 
conveniently burned, when in sight of another vessel, 
which rescued all hands. The owners obtained their 
insurance. Such were the profits of those engaged in 
the slave-trade when successful in landing a cargo. 


“A LOVE-CHASE.” 

I. 

“I declare, it’s too bad,” said Miss Drummond. “ I 
never saw a review, and I don’t know when I’ll ever 
have another chance. Isn’t there any way of getting 
there ?” 

“ If you had the wings of a dove and could fly, or 
even the feet of a duck and could paddle, there wouldn’t 
be any trouble,” replied Lieutenant Ryland. 



A LOVE-CHASE. 1 


93 


"Well, I ought to have wings,” she pouted, “for papa 
said only to-day that I’d been a perfect angel for the last 
two days.” 

“ Poor papa,” said pretty Mrs. Lee; “ only think what 
you must have been before that; but why can’t we have 
the ambulance ? Four horses could get us there.” 

“ Don’t you believe it, Mrs. Lee,” interposed another 
youngster, as he dexterously inhaled, without scorching 
his tender, adolescent, petted mustache, the last whiff of 
the cigar which, as a great favor, had been produced from 
the major’s precious box. " Bob and I tried it last week 
with four of the best horses in camp. We started to 
look in on the Eleventh Infantry, only six miles off, not 
much over half the distance to Stevensburg. Well, we 
got along all right till we struck the old corduroy road. 
Lots of the logs had rotted away entirely and left chasms 
where they had been. The fore-wheels went down in 
one clear up to the hubs, and the jerk came so suddenly 
that, good driver as Molloy is, the pole-hook broke and 
the leaders went back to camp.” 

“What did you do ?” asked Miss Drummond. “Went 
back after them, I suppose.” 

“ No, we didn’t. Bob here is such a mule that he in¬ 
sisted on going on with two horses, and the consequence 
was that, before we got one-third of the way back, the 
beggars played out completely and we unloaded, and I 
had the satisfaction of seeing Bob slumping home in his 
swell-tops which he had put on to crush the Eleventh. 
I don’t believe he’ll ever get into them again.” 

“ Couldn’t we go on horseback ?” said Miss Drummond. 
“ I know where I can borrow a saddle.” 

“ No horseback for me, my dear, if you please,” Mrs. 


94 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


Lee said, with an energy unusual in her. “ I haven’t been 
on a horse since goodness knows when, and I’m not 
going to be on exhibition.” 

“Oh, you couldn’t stand it,” said Ryland. “Your 
skirts would be so loaded with mud that you couldn’t 
walk after you got there; and you wouldn’t have any 
fun, for there’s going to be a big time at the general’s 
head-quarters,—reception, dance, and all that sort of 
thing after the review is over, and you wouldn’t want to 
miss that.” 

“ Miss that ? I wouldn’t miss any of it for worlds,” 
pleaded Miss Drummond; “ and, what’s more, I won’t. 
You’ve simply got to find a way. I know if Mr. Hamil¬ 
ton were here he’d find a way.” 

An expression of intense weariness pervaded each 
hitherto eager youngster, and they looked at the glow¬ 
ing log in the wide chimney, whether to seek an inspira¬ 
tion or select a nice warm spot for Mr. Hamilton, will 
always be a matter of conjecture. This chimney was 
the admiration of the entire Horse-Artillery Brigade. It 
was entirely built of brick, while all others were content 
with well-daubed clay. Major Drummond had chanced 
upon the ruins of a house, one of the melancholy wrecks 
of war’s dire storm, and, being rather acquisitive than 
communicative, had quietly sent out a wagon and detail 
and gobbled the last remaining brick. 

The aspect of the room was not unworthy of the 
splendor of the chimney. Split logs, actually squared 
and lined with gunny-bags, towered up to a height of 
five feet, above which was pitched a hospital tent, just 
think of it!—a hospital tent! A brigade commander could 
not be better lodged. Then there were real chairs, a 


A LOVE-CHASE. 1 


95 


table with a cover, and a comfortable chintz-covered 
couch, one or two rugs, hanging shelves, books, all the 
cosey signs of woman’s humanizing presence, and tangible 
in flesh and blood, glowing with health and life, were 
the two. Young matronhood, calm, sedate, large in 
outline, warm in color, with all the repose of a nature 
which knows and has tested its charm, and feels that it 
has only to exert a wish and men will love again as men 
have loved before ; and girlhood, standing in the open 
door of life in the consciousness of power unbounded, 
because untried keen intellect and vivacious fancy shining 
through the sparkling black eyes, birth and breeding 
manifest in every movement of the tall, elastic, well- 
poised figure. 

We left the youngsters gazing at the fire, feeling at 
this imperious and deliciously unreasonable demand 
like children unjustly scolded. How long they would 
have remained in helpless collapse no one can say, for, 
as if in response to her expression of confidence, in 
walked a young man, tall, pale, and slender, with an air 
of calm self-confidence which, while it irritated less justly 
than an aggressive demeanor, never failed in the im¬ 
pression of putting forth in some indefinable way a claim 
to stand upon a higher plane than you did; a claim 
which in time became an offence all the more grievous 
that you could see no way of pulling him down or even 
of reaching him. 

“Mr. Hamilton,” exclaimed Miss Drummond, “you 
have just come in time to help us out of our difficulty.” 

“Ah! delighted to hear it,” he replied. “ Dens ex 
machina , I suppose. What’s the situation ?” 

“The situation,” replied Miss Drummond, striking an 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


96 

attitude, “ is this. Two young and lovely women have 
expressed an ardent, a consuming, an unquenchable de¬ 
sire to go to the review day after to-morrow. Two tire¬ 
some young men, instead of flying to execute their 
wishes, annihilating all obstacles, are furnishing reasons 
why they can’t go, and throwing cold water on all their 
suggestions.” 

“ Now, you know that isn’t fair, Miss Drummond,” 
interposed George Holt, the rosy-cheeked youngster 
with the budding mustache. “I’ve just been thinking 
ever since we came in.” 

“ Miss Drummond,” replied Mr. Hamilton, with a bow, 
“ is always fair, though in this particular case perhaps 
not strictly just; but a wilful woman, you know, maun 
have her way, and it is the mission of devoted swains 
to discover a way, or, if need be, to make it.” 

“ Hamilton,” replied Bob Ryland, “ you don’t often 
talk sense, but in this particular instance your head is 
level. Ladies, confide in us. You shall go. We have 
said it. Come on, George; I’ve got an idea.” 

“ If you’ve got an idea, Bob,” retorted Hamilton, 
“ don’t let it sit up late. Well, good-night, if you must 
go,” and through the open door a bright glow and 
warmth were diffused into the keen atmosphere, and 
stray gleams fell upon the tall gaunt trunks of the pine- 
trees, making more sombre the moonless night. 

Robert Ryland was a lucky youth, as these days went. 
Although only twenty-two years old he commanded 
Captain Percy’s famous horse-battery. Son of a very 
prominent politician, and belonging to an old and dis¬ 
tinguished family, he had seen a little of life in the 
tumultuous mob of Washington society. 


“A LOVE-CHASE.’ 


97 


Always passionately fond of horses, his first service 
with a battery attached to the Irish brigade had given 
him a violent sporting turn. Not being a West Pointer, 
but a Yale man, he had brought with him no cavalry 
prejudices to bind him to what was called an army seat. 
A willing and enthusiastic pupil of one of the most 
famous of the Galway fox-hunters who was serving on 
the brigade staff, he came to the horse-artillery a really 
good cross-country rider for his age. Being, as his 
friend Holt said, a bit of a mule, he never tried to con¬ 
ciliate a single prejudice, but rather went out of his way 
to jump on men who rode with long stirrups, straight 
knees, and forked seats. Indifferent to argument and 
ridicule, he had ridden himself into the respect, at least, 
of the horse-gunners, and now and then his worst de- 
famers would admit that Bob could take a horse over a 
rasping ditch in good style. He had even begun to 
make converts, of whom the most recent was the youth 
now walking arm and arm with him through the winter 
night. 

George Holt was a country boy from the far North¬ 
west, attached as a volunteer to one of the regular bat¬ 
teries. Crude as to education and society, his handsome 
face and figure and a certain inborn air of distinction 
attracted every man and woman at first sight, while his 
reckless daring, sweet temper, and fresh, boyish ways 
endeared him to his friends. 

It is quite probable that in the society of Mrs. Lee, the 
pretty wife of the adjutant-general of the brigade, and 
Major Drummond’s graceful daughter, George learned 
his first social lessons. Not having an atom of bashful¬ 
ness, because free from self-consciousness, that unfortunate 
E & 9 


9 8 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


obverse of vanity, he was a rapid scholar; and where in 
the great art of putting a young man at ease with him¬ 
self, and therefore on pleasant terms with the world, can 
be found such a teacher as a charming married woman ? 
In this winter camp at Brandy Station, Va., in the winter 
of 1863-64, was all the freedom of the family, and indeed 
it was a very happy family,—sweet Mrs. Lee, Kate 
Drummond, a girl of rare qualities of heart and brain, 
and all these high-spirited youths, with fame before them, 
duty and patriotism to warm their hearts and nerve their 
arms, and in this welcome rest and cessation from war’s 
alarms the image and reflection of home to keep alive 
humane and tender feelings. 

“ Come in, George,” said Bob, as they arrived at his 
quarters, “ and I’ll tell you my idea.” 

The fire, which still glowed in rapidly darkening 
embers, having been built up and the pipes lighted, Bob 
unfolded. 

“You see, George, the trouble is in stopping the 
leaders in time when the blessed old wagon goes into a 
hole. Now, if we could put in two good artillery teams 
with careful drivers, couldn’t they get it along anywhere ? 
The wagon is strong and light compared with a gun, 
and we’ve seen a gun yanked through places a heap 
worse,—the Chickahominy, for instance, where I’ve seen 
six horses break through a crust which looked dry and 
go up to their bellies in liquid mud. What do you 
think ?” 

“ I don’t know,” said George, thoughtfully; “ it’s a 
queer scheme; and yet I don’t see why it wouldn’t work. 
Six horses could certainly do it.” 

" Right you are, my boy,” said Bob, triumphantly, 


A LOVE-CHASE. 1 


99 


“ and six horses would look a great deal better than four. 
I’ve got two staving swing teams. They’ll be heavy 
enough, and I’ll borrow that chestnut lead team from 
the New York horse-battery. Then they’ll all be of a 
color.” 

“ And we’ll get the drivers up in style,—buy them 
top-boots at the sutler’s, and new whips, and have the 
harness blacked and the brasses burnished,” added Holt. 
“ You see those ladies have set their hearts on going, and 
I’ll take any amount of trouble rather than disappoint 
them. When Miss Drummond seemed so sorry, do you 
know I couldn’t bear to look at her.” 

“Yes,” said Bob; “and when she got you down and 
stamped on you because you said the horses couldn’t do 
it, you were just as meek as Moses. Now, that isn’t the 
way, George, to get along with women. A woman 
admires strength above all things. A little judicious 
brutality is a great thing sometimes, but that, of course, 
you should keep for emergencies. Indifference is the 
trump card. Just the moment a woman thinks you are 
indifferent, that instant she sets herself to work to fas¬ 
cinate you. In trying to fix the hook in you, like a 
clumsy fisherman, she gets it in her own fingers.” 

“ Well, but, Bob,” said George, doubtfully, “ you 
seemed to be as anxious as I was that Kate—I mean 
Miss Drummond—shouldn’t be disappointed.” 

** Nonsense, George. I was bound that that insuffer¬ 
able prig, Hamilton, shouldn’t put his oar in. Voila 
tout ” 

“ Do you know, Bob, I’m awfully glad that you don’t 
care anything about Miss Drummond. I know it’s ab¬ 
surd for a boy like me, so inferior to her in every way, 


100 BY LAND AND SEA. 

to even think of her; but I can’t help loving her; and 
then, you know, Bob, its war-time now, and maybe, if 
I’m lucky, I can do something to make her proud of me. 
Do you think I’ve any chance ?” 

“ George,” said Bob, rising from his seat, and then, 
after several turns up and down the tent, as if summoning 
all his resolution, “You know I like you, old man. I 
taught you to ride. I’ve given you lots of good advice, 
because, don’t you know, you don’t know the world as I 
do, and I hate to hurt you; but, as a man of the world, 
and as a friend, it is my duty to tell you that I don’t 
think you’ve got a ghost of a show. You’re awfully 
good-looking, and an ordinary girl would fall head over 
ears in love with you, but Kate Drummond is no ordi¬ 
nary girl. She requires a man older than herself, a man 
in whose social knowledge and experience she can find 
the balance that her impulsive nature wants. The man 
that wins her must take her by storm, overawe her by 
his strength, and fascinate her by his savior faired 

“Certainly, Bob,” replied Holt, ruefully; “but then,” 
brightening up a little, “ there isn’t anybody like that 
around here. Most of the fellows are West Pointers. 
They’re better educated than I am, but they don’t know 
much more of the world, and I’m going to ask her any¬ 
how. I’d like her to know that if I ever make any kind 
of a name, or get killed doing my duty, she’s been my— 
my inspiration.” 

“ George,” said Bob, solemnly, “ I haven’t told you the 
worst, but I can’t let you subject yourself to certain re¬ 
fusal. You know what sort of a life I led in Washing¬ 
ton : it was a life to make a man doubt the possibility 
of ever really loving. I thought my heart was dead, 


A LOVE-CHASE. 1 


IOI 


burned to ashes, I might say; but when I saw that 
woman, I recognized in her the weird and subtle power 
of Flora Bellasys—you remember the woman in Guy 
Livingston. I cowered, disguised my feelings under a 
mask of cynical indifference, but I fear she has pene¬ 
trated my secret. She has looked at me of late in a 
way that seemed to pierce my inmost soul. And you 
know all, George ; can you forgive me ? I never dreamed 
of supplanting you. Shake hands, old man.” 

George rose and warmly clasped Ryland’s extended 
hand. 

“ It’s all right, Bob. I know you wouldn’t do it inten¬ 
tionally. I’m afraid I haven’t any chance, but still I 
must know my fate from her own lips.” 

“ Upon my soul,” said Ryland, considerably nettled. 
“ You’ve got more cheek than I thought you had, but 
I’ve warned you ; I can’t do anything else. So you really 
think that you’re going to leave the happiness which is 
denied to ninety-nine out of every hundred men, that 
your first dream of love is going to come true, when 
other men, much older and wiser than you, George, have 
seen their idols broken, and, worse still, have found that 
they were only graven images all the time, and graven 
out of very common stuff sometimes. But go on, my 
boy, try your luck, and if she says yes, don’t forget to 
ask me to the wedding.” 

While Holt was still writhing under his crushing irony, 
a knock was heard, and a very striking man stood in the 
doorway; black, glossy, bushy, and curling as to hair, 
white and glistening as to teeth, brilliant and shifting 
as to eyes, the adjutant-general of the brigade, Lieu¬ 
tenant Lee. 


9 ' 


102 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


“ Ryland,” said he, “ Mrs. L. tells me you’re all going 
to the review. How you’re going to get them there I 
don’t know, but she says you’ve promised, and I thought 
I’d ask you if you’d like to ride the mare down ?” 

“ Why, of course I would,” said Bob. “ But how are 
you going ?” 

“ I think I’ll go in the wagon,” Lee replied, with a 
light shade of embarrassment. “ You see I haven’t been 
well lately, and I’m too heavy for the mare. Anyhow, 
Mrs. Lee wants to see her jump, and I know she’ll act 
better with you.” 

“ All right,” said Bob, joyfully. “ I’ll do the best I can 
with her, and if George rides Isaac we’ll give the ladies 
an impromptu steeple-chase.” 

“You send over your man when you want her,” said 
Lee as he went out. 

As the door closed upon him, Bob said, “ Now isn’t 
that like Lee? Did you ever know him to be under the 
weather except when we get orders to move, or there is 
some chance for his beauty to be damaged?” 

Poor Holt, who had been crushed to earth by Bob’s 
superior worldliness, had brightened perceptibly at the 
word steeple-chase, and now jumped up almost hilari¬ 
ously. “ Say, Bob, we’ll make it a steeple-chase for a big 
prize. Do you remember in Charles O’Malley how 
Charley and that English fellow rode for love and Lucy 
Dashwood? Now suppose we say that we’ll take the 
country in a straight line from here to Stevensburg. 
You know it a great deal better than I do. The man 
who gets in first shall have the first chance to try his 
fate, and the other must promise to stand back and give 
him a show. What do you say ?” 


“A LOVE-CHASE.” 103 

Bob descended at once from his lofty social plane and 
became the eager sportsman. 

“ I say done. It’s giving you big odds, a thorough¬ 
bred against a cocktail; but Isaac’s got such an infernal 
temper that there’s a very fair chance for him to break 
your neck, or get away with you and run himself to a 
standstill. So shake hands on it. The great love-chase 
comes off day after to-morrow. P. P. Play or Pay.” 


II. 

The next day was spent in preparation. Harness was 
washed and oiled. Brasses were rubbed till they shone 
like gold. New blankets were drawn from the quarter¬ 
master. With what negotiations and what flatteries the 
captain of the New York battery was wheedled out of 
his showy chestnut team can only be conjectured. All 
eligible drivers in the battery were passed in mental 
review and submitted to a searching examination under 
three heads. 

Could they drive ? Would their appearance shed 
lustre upon their surroundings? Could they be de¬ 
pended on not to get too drunk to drive home ? 

One after another having appeared in ghostly proces¬ 
sion and put through viewless tests, the selection was 
made by the survival of the fittest. 

The next day was a perfect Virginia winter day. Earth 
and air were softened and mellowed by the sun’s genial 
rays, while the lingering crispness of the early morning 
gave a zest like ice to champagne. 

In front of Major Drummond’s quarters was gathered 
a merry and excited group, merry with the anticipation 


104 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


of the day’s pleasure, eagerly expectant as to the ways 
and means. 

Nothing could have been prettier than the effect of 
those two bright faces, fair and dark, framed in furs 
against a background of uniforms and tall spectral col¬ 
umns, where the great pitch-pines towered gaunt and 
straight in the partly-cleared space dotted with queer¬ 
looking log huts, crowned with canvas that had once 
been white, with mud chimneys surmounted by empty 
barrels by way of chimney-pots. 

By the side of the ladies stood Bob Ryland, with the 
air of the fairy godmother conjuring Cinderella’s coach 
out of a pumpkin, and George, his loyal coadjutor, with a 
calm confidence that was contagious. They were not 
long kept in suspense. A sound of trotting hoofs, a 
rattle of wheels, and the black leather-covered ambulance 
rolled into view drawn by six splendid horses, their 
winter coats of rich chestnut plush glistening under the 
bright scarlet blankets. The harness might have just 
come from the shop, the brasses glittered in the sun. 
Even the trace-chains had been burnished. The postil¬ 
ions—erect, muscular figures with bronzed faces and 
fierce mustaches—sat their horses with the easy grace 
of men who have lived much in the saddle. Their artil¬ 
lery jackets, trimmed with scarlet and shining with bell- 
buttons, contrasted admirably with top-boots of felty 
polish, while the jockey-caps, which George had pur¬ 
chased from the all-providing sutler in place of the ugly 
forage-caps of that day; large, plated spurs and heavy- 
handled whips gave the desired sporting effect. 

No wonder that George looked on proudly while Miss 
Drummond exclaimed, “This is simply bewildering. 


“A LOVE-CHASE. 


105 


Ah, Mr. Ryland, I knew you could do it if you tried.” 
And Mrs. Lee looked unutterable things. 

Major Drummond, on the contrary, greeted the turn¬ 
out with shouts of laughter. “ Well, boys, where are 
the black plumes ? who is going to be buried ?” 

“All of us, I fear,” replied Mr. Hamilton, “inthe mud.” 

George remarked, sotto voce , to Bob, that he didn’t 
believe there was mud enough in Virginia to stop his 
mouth. 

While the merry party, including Lieutenant Lee, is 
being stowed away in the much-enduring wagon, two 
soldiers bring up Isaac, and Lieutenant Lee’s bay mare 
Isaac is worth some study. At first glance you see a 
rather long-bodied, short-legged animal, of an ugly light- 
bay color, with a mane and tail much the worse for the 
inquisitive teeth of his companions at the picket-line. 
Eyes of sullen fire gleam in a bony head with a very 
broad forehead, and nostrils capable of wide distention. 
The neck is light and straight and set rather low in deep 
sloping shoulders. The legs look short, but the length 
of the forearm is great compared with the lower leg. 
The body, unmistakably long, is powerfully ribbed-up, 
and big ragged hips with a high drooping haunch indicate 
great propelling power. When you are told that he 
was once on the track in Kentucky and cashiered for 
meanness, you set it down as a bouncer; but a careful 
survey of the mane and tail, fine and silky as a woman’s 
hair, the delicate taper ears, the broad flat bones of the 
lower legs, and the long oblique fetlocks, modify your 
opinion. And making all allowances for the chewed-up 
mane and the rough coat, it is not hard to trace a rela¬ 
tionship to the silken-coated beauties of the blue-grass 


106 BY LAND AND SEA. 

land. The mare was a compact, handsome animal, an 
inch taller and much shorter-coupled than the horse. 
Her head was fine, neck rather thick, legs and feet ex¬ 
cellent; in short, a fine specimen of the charger. 

Bob had picked her out of a big lot in the quarter¬ 
master’s corral when he was adjutant-general of the 
brigade, and taught her to jump, which she took to un¬ 
commonly well. 

As they rode through the camp after the wagon, they 
gave their steeds an eye-opener in the shape of a brush 
fence which surrounded a vacant space where had once 
been an officer’s quarters. The mare rose high, but 
dwelt considerably on landing in a fashion which in a 
race would have cost her a length at every hurdle. 
Isaac made a long stretching leap without breaking his 
stride, but caught both forefeet in the top, and, but for 
the brittle nature of the long cut wood, would have 
got an ugly tumble. “Ah, ha,” said Bob, who had 
dropped a little behind to watch Isaac, for fences were 
so rare in Virginia in those days that he had never seen 
him negotiate one, “ I always had an idea, my friend, 
that your long body wasn’t partial to a fence; and if I 
can only steer George up against a couple of stone walls 
that I know of, I’ve a notion that you may come to 
grief.” 

After leaving the woods in which the camp was situ¬ 
ated, the wagon took the road to Brandy Station, and the 
two rivals cantered over the fields on the right side of the 
road. Bob, who acted as pilot, chose the right side for 
two reasons; first, on account of the stone walls afore¬ 
said, and, second, because on the left side he had a dis¬ 
tinct mental vision of a ravine at least twenty feet wide 


A LOVE-CHASE. 1 


107 


and as much in depth, with perpendicular banks. He 
knew that should George once get a glimpse of it, he 
would put Isaac at it to win or lose it all right there; and 
with the brute’s pluck and breeding, backed by his great 
muscular strength and immense stride, there was a very 
fair prospect of his getting over; whereas he knew 
that the mare wouldn’t face it, and that if she did a 
broken back for her, with the strong probability of a 
broken neck for himself, was all he could expect. 

The ditches on the right were many and stiff, but 
none beyond the capacity of any good horse ridden 
straight. There was no attempt at racing. The going 
was so heavy and the distance so long that each man 
knew the folly of tiring his horse by any premature 
bursts. Besides, they were riding for the gallery, and 
often walked their horses to keep within sight of the 
wagon laboring through the liquid mud with its six 
strong steeds. As they came near the stone bridge, 
and Bob was endeavoring to divert George’s attention 
from the other side of the road where the great ravine 
yawned, a fortunate diversion occurred. A cheery 
voice behind them hailed in familiar Pennsylvania Dutch 
accents,— 

“ Vhere vas you boys goin’ to ?” It was Lieutenant 
Diffenduffer of the First Dragoons. 

“To Stevensburg,” replied Holt. 

“ Veil, I goes dere too. I goes along mit you.” 

Bob cast one significant and comprehensive glance 
from his own English hunting saddle, light steel stirrups, 
and broad-reined snaffle, to the big, coarse, black troop 
horse with heavy arched neck, thick straight shoulders, 
the McClellan saddle with its sweat leathers and clumsy 


108 BY LAND AND SEA. 

hooded stirrups, and the severe curb-bit buckled tightly 
in the jaw, and then said,— 

" Come on, old man; but we’re out for business and 
can’t stop for any little accidents.” 

“ Oh, dot’s all right. I guess I can go vhere you 
goes,” said Dififenduffer; and the three splashed along 
over the swampy ground, George little dreaming that 
what was a march on that side of the road, was on the 
other a beautiful chasm, capable of burying Robert’s 
aspirations twenty feet deep, or leaving him pounded 
and helpless on the brink. A couple of small drains 
were cleared, the black showing considerable reluctance, 
but persuaded by vigorous spurring, mixed with sundry 
Teutonic objurgations. In front of them now loomed 
the biggest thing in the way of water on the left-hand 
side, twelve feet in width, with bad broken banks. Bob 
recognized it at once, and knowing the importance of a 
good margin with such treacherous soil, put on pace 
and began working up the mare for the effort. The 
long walk over the swamp had given them a good 
breathing spell, and she responded to the spur and broke 
into a sweeping gallop. Bob picked out a place of me¬ 
dium width with fairly firm banks, and increasing the 
pace at every stride, rushed her at it. Pluckily she rose, 
but jumping unnecessarily high, and with her fault of 
dwelling in landing, her hind hoofs broke the soft clay, 
and it was only Bob’s skilful hands and readiness for 
any emergency that saved her. Isaac was a beautiful 
sight as he came down to the water, his lean head 
eagerly extended, and his long, low stride regular as 
clock-work, fairly devouring the distance. George reck¬ 
lessly headed for the very widest place and the very 


A LOVE-CHASE.’ 


IO9 


worst of the bank, but the old horse chose his distance 
to take off as few living riders could have done, and 
George knew enough to give him his head and let him 
alone. With a terrific rush in the last half-dozen strides, 
Isaac launched himself from the very last inch of firm 
ground, and clearing the broken bank by five good feet 
galloped on. 

Dififenduffer came on pluckily, but the black was 
cringing and going short with the evident intention of 
refusing, and nothing but the most vigorous driving at 
the hands of a rider who meant going all over could 
have given him a chance. Dififendufifer allowed him to 
slacken his pace until within ten lengths, and then seem¬ 
ing to awake to the situation, began spurring vigorously. 
Driven to the edge, the brute still tried to refuse, but 
the rotten bank giving way, he toppled on his nose, 
shooting Dififenduffer over his head into a couple of 
feet of about the muddiest water that Virginia could 
furnish, whence he emerged a Neptune of the puddle, 
making the air blue with observations “ hot from Tar¬ 
tarus.” Seeing no damage done, they kindly said good¬ 
morning and rode on. Soon one of the walls from which 
Bob hoped so much came in sight, and he reined in, 
knowing the weight of Sir Ashton Smith’s famous max¬ 
im, “ You can’t go too fast at water, or too slow at a 
fence.” 

George followed his example, and side by side both 
horses rose. 

The mare was thoroughly at home here, and cleared 
it with eight inches to spare. Isaac made a beautiful 
hurdle leap, long and low, knocking off a couple of big 
stones which, luckily for him, were loose. 

10 


110 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


And now Bob showed the foxy nature of his sporting 
training. He deliberately forced the pace to the next 
wall to give Isaac every chance to hit it hard. George 
walked into the trap, and feeling confident, spurred Isaac 
hilariously until the ugly brute got mad, and taking the 
bit in his vicious jaws, raced for the wall. Instead of 
pulling him down to a canter and getting his legs under 
him, George rushed him as he was wont to do at his 
ditches. Isaac struck hard, and finding no loose stones, 
came down in a heap in the soft mud, sending George 
clean and safely over his head. 

Bob came up quietly and took it with ease, and seeing 
George unhurt, rode away. After going one hundred 
yards, he looked back, and seeing George still on foot, 
called out, “ Come on, old man; Isaac’s all right, isn’t 
he?” 

“ Yes,” shouted George; “but my girth’s broken all 
to pieces. Never mind me ; I’ll find the wagon and rig 
up something. I give it up.” 

Now if Bob had had a perfectly clean conscience, his 
turf education would have told him to go on and win; 
but he knew he had managed to get Isaac away from 
where his great powers would have left the mare 
helplessly in the lurch, and that he had gone out of 
his way to find a wall which he suspected would stop 
him. 

So with a magnanimity which I am sure all racing- 
men will appreciate, he rode back, and taking off the 
extra surcingle which he had over his own saddle, he 
put it on Isaac. 

George said, “What did you do that for?” 

To which Bob replied, “ I took an advantage of you, 


A LOVE-CHASE . 1 


Ill 


and I’m making it square. Now we’ll start again. I’ll 
tell you about it as we go on.” 

From this time out the jumps were few and easy, and 
the affair ended in a literal, flat race, in which Isaac’s 
blood and stride easily distanced the mare. Then began 
a lively dispute as to who had really won the race, and 
such was the actual guilelessness of these hardened old 
sports that George insisted that Bob was a soft-hearted 
duffer for coming back, and had won the race then and 
there, and Bob said, “ that if he had taken advantage of 
the trap he had set after shirking the ravine, he would 
never speak to himself again.” 

So they finally settled it by tossing a quarter, and Bob 
won the right to first put his fate unto the touch. 

Hardly had they settled it when the wagon came in 
sight, and they joined it to do duty as outriders in the 
pageant. When they arrived on the big plain above 
Stevensburg, the cavalry line was formed with two horse- 
batteries on the flank. Just as they got into the place 
assigned to spectators, a long line of steel glinted in the 
bright sunlight, as the sabres were brought to a “ present.” 
Then the line broke into column, and with the clash of 
kettle-drums and the stirring notes of horns, the march 
past began. As each company passed, Bob and George 
announced it to the eager and wondering ladies. There 
was something marvellously picturesque in this spectacle, 
not of holiday soldiers in all the pomp and circum¬ 
stance of inglorious parade, but in the actual panoply of 
war. The absolute silence, the eyes to the front, and the 
accurate dressing spoke of discipline learned in places 
where inattention meant capture or death, and the solid 
ranks told of long and weary days and nights of marching 


112 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


before these horses could step so rigidly together. At 
last, even to the inexperienced eyes of the ladies, it was 
evident that something was passing excelling in these 
points all that had preceded. When a company of iron- 
grays passed without a single horse of another color 
they broke into delighted exclamations. 

“ Oh, Mr. Ryland,” they said, with one voice, “ what 
is that ?” 

“ ‘ K’ troop of the Second Dragoons,” was the reply. 

The Fifth Cavalry, that band of heroes with the proud 
memories of Gaines’ Mills, were duly wondered at and 
admired. Close behind the Sixth United States came a 
regiment whose officers were conspicuous for jauntiness, 
even in that crowd. 

“ There, ladies,” said George, “ is the swellest thing in 
America, the Sixth Pennsylvania (Rush’s Lancers). 
You’ve danced the German with most every officer in 
that regiment, if you’ve ever been in Philadelphia.” 

The horse-batteries particularly delighted the ladies 
loyal to their own arm of the service, and when one strik¬ 
ingly handsome fellow saluted with an extra moulinet, 
they breathlessly inquired his name, and their interest 
did not diminish when told that he was the son of the 
Postmaster-General, and that he had in a recent fight 
construed an order to retire into an order to go six 
hundred yards nearer the enemy and open with case- 
shot. 

After the review was over, the major-general rode up, 
cap in hand, to assure the ladies that their turnout was 
the most brilliant feature of the day, and that the young 
gentlemen who designed it had immortalized themselves. 
The reception and dance which followed completed their 


A LOVE-CHASE.’ 


"3 

enjoyment,—the ladies, I mean,—but it was marred, not to 
say spoiled, for our heroes by the sudden disappearance 
of Miss Drummond. No one could give any information 
until, as symptoms of breaking up became apparent, Mrs. 
Lee seized disconsolate Bob by the arm and said, “ Oh, 
Mr. Ryland, do try to find Miss Drummond. We really 
must be going.” 

“ I have been trying to find her for the last hour,” Bob 
replied, sadly. 

“ Well, now,” said Mrs. Lee, “ that really is too bad of 
Kate, when there are at least one hundred men here and 
about ten women. I suppose we may consider the thing 
as settled now.” And as Bob’s eyes began to slowly 
leave their sockets, she exclaimed, “ Oh, there they are 
at last!” 

Incapable of speech, Bob mechanically followed her 
looks and saw, coming from some terra incognita , with a 
proud smile of happiness on his face and a tender light 
in her beautiful eyes, making soft what had hitherto been 
brilliant, Mr. Hamilton and Miss Drummond. As the 
youngsters helped them into the wagon, Mrs. Lee said, 
“ How beautifully you rode the mare, Mr. Ryland!” 
And Miss Drummond added, “ I never saw anything in 
my life, Mr. Holt, as plucky as the way you went on 
after that terrible fall.” 

“ Yes, indeed,” said Mr. Hamilton. “ How much I 
wish that I could do that sort of thing. I actually envied 
you.” 

“ You look as if you did,” replied George, savagely. 

“ Well, I can’t say that, either,” laughed Mr. Hamilton. 
“ It wouldn’t be polite,” as his eyes rested lovingly on the 
fair face, never half so fair as in the soft light of new- 
h 10* 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


114 

found happiness. “ But we are all under the greatest 
obligations to you who prepared all this pleasure for 
us.” 

George and Bob mounted their jaded steeds and rode 
solemnly behind the wagon. 

After a few yards, George looked actually timidly up 
into Bob’s lowering visage, and Bob, catching him in the 
act, turned with an air of annihilation ; but an inspiration 
saved George. 

“ Bob,” said he, “ there’s a beautiful ditch.” As the 
long-suffering steeds went over with a groan of protest, 
Bob’s face relaxed, the clouds lightened, broken gleams 
of sunshine appeared, and finally both burst into a hearty 
peal of laughter. 

George said, “ Bob, it’s the old fable of Aisop about 
the lions and the fawn.” 

“ Who in Hades was Aisop ?” said George. 

“ An old Greek duffer who wrote fables. The lions 
found a lovely fawn, and got to fighting over it; and 
when they got through, found that a fox had come along 
and walked off with it.” 

“Just our fix,” said George. “ But I say, Bob, I don’t 
believe they were lions.” 

“ What then ?” said Bob. 

“ Donkeys.” 


THE LADY OF MALTA. 


"5 


THE LADY OF MALTA. 

I. 

Not many years ago, I was fortunate in having for a 
shipmate one who was extremely odd in being extremely 
commonplace. He was neither good nor bad looking, 
tall nor short, stout nor slender, wise nor foolish, re¬ 
ligious nor worldly, and neither precise nor careless. I 
was neither attracted nor repelled by him when I first 
met him, and it was not till we had been long in the same 
ship that I became even slightly interested in him. He 
was never dull in conversation nor was he ever enthusi¬ 
astic over any subject. Of this latter trait I am well in¬ 
formed, for I tried, in every way, to find some question, 
some opinion, some thought that would excite his en¬ 
thusiastic support or his earnest condemnation. To be 
sure, I have heard him dress a man down for some mis¬ 
demeanor, and he could do it effectively, yet in all he 
had to say there was not the slightest tinge of personal 
anger or feeling. He gave the man his medicine for no 
other reason than that he thought the man was in need 
of it. He was my relief, and as sure as eight bells struck, 
and on the instant of the striking, neither before nor after, 
he was on the bridge, ready to take my place and my 
trumpet. 

As time wore on we became more and more intimate. 
Often we went ashore together, going to the same places 
of amusement, seeing the same sights, taking in the ports 
and places the ship visited, in a matter-of-fact sort of 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


116 

way that can be easily imagined. These trips were not 
uninteresting or unenjoyed, however, for they were very 
pleasant to me, and my only regret was that I had not 
had him as a companion in all my wanderings. I had 
previously visited many places which had little or no 
interest, but on revisiting them in his company, they were 
seen in a new and brighter light and became practically 
new scenes to me. 

When I discovered his talent for drawing and painting, 
I was simply delighted, yet in this he was the same 
general average I had always known him to be. The 
pictures he produced were neither simple ideals nor 
simple realities; they were not confined to landscape, 
marine, architectural, figure, or sentimental subjects, and 
were neither hard drawn nor dashed. I well remember 
my making a pencil sketch of the Tower, Cathedral, and 
Baptistery of Pisa, afterwards making a water-color from 
the sketch, and then a pen-and-brush study in india ink. 
I took his criticisms on these pictures with the same 
humility and earnest attention that I would, had they 
come from Titian, Raphael, or Dore. According to him, 
my pen-drawing was too hard and exact, my water-color 
too free, and the pencil sketch was the best of the three. 

While we were in Malta, we went ashore nearly every 
day, and the picturesque town of Valetta gave us much 
enjoyment. Howard made a very pretty sketch of the 
“ Marina Gate,” which was near the landing-place. We 
walked completely around the fortified wall of the city, 
noting the magnificent views to be had from various points. 
We visited the palace of the Grand Master, with its Piazza 
St. Giorgid, made sketches of the armor and warlike 
weapons belonging to past Grand Masters and Knights 


THE LADY OF MALTA. I \”J 

of Malta, and examined closely many beautifully wrought 
pieces of tapestry. 

From the palace, we went to the Cathedral of St. John, 
viewing that admirable piece of sculpture, the Baptism 
of Christ, the grand altar, with its many-colored marbles 
and other precious stones, the slabs covering the remains 
of knights of the order, and escutcheons, set in beautiful 
mosaic, looking as bright as if laid down but yesterday. 

It was while contemplating these things, in the cathe¬ 
dral, that I heard a soft step, as some one passed me, and, 
turning, I was fixed with admiration of a graceful figure 
which was moving quietly in the direction of the mauso¬ 
leum of Grand Master Emanuel Pinto. My first impulse 
was to call Howard’s attention to her, but that mixed 
selfishness and secrecy we all possess prevailed, and, 
noticing that he was absorbed in contemplating the paint¬ 
ing of the “ Beheading of St. John/’ I drifted along down 
the nave, mechanically looking at the stained glass 
windows, the carvings, the columns, while at the same 
time I kept a weather eye on the symmetrical figure that 
had passed. 

The light became dim as evening approached, and in 
the dusky shadows many of the beauties of the church 
became more beautiful. I came to the chapel of the 
“ Portuguese Knights” and there found the lady kneeling 
before an image of the Virgin. Being in a position 
where I could not see her as I wished, I moved slowly 
and quietly around to the opposite side, and found a nook 
in a dark recess behind a pillar, where, unobserved, I 
could drink in what, to me, was the most beautiful picture 
I had ever seen. The sun’s rays were slanting through 
the windows, and were variously colored by the stained 


118 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


glass. The figure, in simple dress, was kneeling, the 
head, covered with a Spanish mantilla, was bowed, the 
face, resting in the hands, was invisible. The folds of 
the dress hung about her figure, making a drapery effect 
never seen in real life and seldom in the most idealistic 
of paintings. Her hair was warm brown, and, though 
arranged in latest fashion, yet was loosely drawn and 
showed the waves that are always lines of beauty. 

As the sun sank, the colored lights stole over her dress 
and, as she raised her head and gazed, with large lustrous 
eyes, at the image of the Virgin, the colors chased each 
other over her face. As she arose and turned to leave, 
my eyes followed her and soon I caught sight of Howard. 
He was facing directly towards me and his expression I 
shall never forget. He did not see me ; he saw only her 
and followed her to the door. I joined him soon after, 
and we made our way to the landing, where we took the 
boat for the ship. That night I dreamed more or less 
of the “ Lady of Malta,” as I was pleased to call her, 
and, in imagination, fought more than one duel for her 
sweet sake in the Strata Ferratti. When I awoke I was 
thankful that the duels had been dreams, but I was sorry 
the lady was not also a dream, for I knew the memory 
of her would give me much trouble in spirits. 

The ship left Malta that morning. It was six months 
later that Howard was detached and ordered home, and 
during that six months he said nothing about the “ Lady 
of Malta.” From close observation of him, I saw that he 
had been somewhat affected by the incident. His oc¬ 
casional use of profanity had become semi-occasional, 
his attendance at church had become more frequent, and 
he was slightly more sentimental. His being ordered 


THE LADY OF MALTA. 


II 9 

home troubled me somewhat, for I did not like to part 
company with so good a shipmate. Just before he left, I 
asked him what had caused the changes I had noticed in 
him. In his quiet, pleasant way, he took me to his trunk, 
which had.already been packed, unlocked, opened it, and 
after pulling off some wrappers, he disclosed to my view 
a water-color of the “ Lady of Malta.” It was a magnifi¬ 
cent picture and represented her as we had both seen her. 
The lights and shadows nicely balanced and the tinting 
was exquisite. It was the work of an artist-lover. 
Under it was written, “ Lead, kindly light, lead thou me 
on!” 

Turning to me, he said, “Jack, that is the cause, and 
that is my shrine.” 

“ Give it to me as a token of friendship,” I said. 

“ Well, no, not now.” 

II. 

A year later found me sick, a convalescent from coast 
fever. After spending a few weeks at the Brooklyn hos¬ 
pital, I was granted sick-leave, and went home to recu¬ 
perate. My mother’s brother-in-law, Mr. Martine, was 
about to start on his regular summer trip, in his steam 
yacht, and invited me to join him. I accepted and joined 
the yacht at New Haven, Conn. Mr. Martine met me 
at the gangway, and walking aft, introduced me to such 
of the party as I had not met before. Among them was 
his daughter, Miss Annie Martine, my own first cousin, 
the “ Lady of Malta.” My head began to swim, and I 
believe I should have fallen in a faint, or jumped over¬ 
board, or done something crazy, if my uncle had not 
hustled me below and given me a bracer. Before I went 
on deck, I got the lay of the land and was prepared to 


120 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


hear my cousin tell all about her travels, her trip to 
Europe, her trip to the Bermudas, and of her poor 
mother's death soon after their return to New York. I, 
in turn, told her about myself, about Howard, about 
Malta, and about the picture that Howard had painted. 
She proved to be a most worthy cousin, of winning 
manners and sweet disposition, coupled with cleverness, 
brightness, and good common sense. 

It was a merry party we had on board the yacht and 
we hoped for a merry trip. A pleasant day at New 
London, a week at Narragansett Pier, another at New¬ 
port, and we were on our way to Boston. My uncle 
looked to me as the revising authority on all questions 
of seamanship and weather, and when it came on to 
blow, as we entered Vineyard Sound, I was consulted as 
to whether we had better seek shelter or proceed on our 
course. After debating between the idea of safety and 
comfort for the party, and the idea of being looked upon 
as a coward by the sailing-master and crew, and thus 
bring discredit to my cloth, I decided to proceed. When 
we got to the Monomoy Passage, it was blowing a gale; 
we had not seen any lights for half an hour; it was too 
late to turn back; the yacht was straining badly in the 
heavy sea; I was on deck, doing what good I could to 
keep things ship-shape; we had passed buoy No. 7 and 
were heading for the perpendicular striped one, that 
marks mid-channel, when I heard the cry,— 

“ Light ho!” shrill and sharp as a madman’s shriek. 

“ Where away ?” 

“ Close aboard,—port bow,—green !” 

“ Port,” I cried,—“ Hard a-” Crash, and I thought 

the heavens had fallen and then—I ceased to think. 



THE LADY OF MALTA. 


121 


When I came to, I was in a strange bunk, on a strange 
ship, and my uncle was bending over me. 

“ It is all right, my boy,” he said. 

“ What is all right ? Tell me all about it.” 

“ Not now, but I will after you take another nap.” 

I fell into a doze, or dream, in which a bright green 
light bothered me much. When I awoke, my uncle 
told me, in few words, how the yacht had been run into 
and completely disabled, how I had been knocked sense¬ 
less, and how, in all the tumult, I had been found and 
dragged aft to the main saloon, by the heroic efforts of 
my cousin, Miss Annie ; how the gale became more 
furious and the helpless yacht drifted on to the point, 
despite the anchor they had managed to let go; how a 
whale-boat had reached us through that terrible sea; 
how, through caring for me, Miss Annie nearly lost her 
life, but was saved by the man in charge of the whale¬ 
boat ; how we were all taken around to leeward of the 
point and placed aboard of the schooner; and how the 
yacht had since gone to pieces and was a total loss. 

Miss Annie told me how she had come through it all, 
how nicely she had been treated by all on the schooner, 
and how considerate and gentlemanly the captain had 
been. She was so enthusiastic in his praise that I began 
to discourage her talk, as I feared she might fall in love 
with the schooner captain, which was worse, in my opin¬ 
ion, than if she were to marry her father’s coachman. 

My uncle and myself seemed to be the only ones who 
had come out badly in the smash-up. I had a broken 
leg and he had lost his yacht, but we could both afford 
it. I had a good constitution to fall back on, and he had 
a goodly pile of bonds and bank-stock. 


122 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


“ Hello, Jack, how are you ?” There stood Howard 
or his ghost 

“ Well—I—hang it—I’ve got a good square case of 
coast fever, that’s how I am.” 

“ No you haven’t, old fellow. You are only struck a 
little end on. Go to sleep again and I’ll see you when 
you wake up.” 

It came dimly to my mind that I was on a coast sur¬ 
vey schooner, and that Howard was in command. He 
was the “ schooner captain.” I went to sleep, or rather 
to a prolonged nightmare, for such dreams as I had 
cannot be found in any dream-books. 

The schooner was the “ Precision,” and a couple of 
days later Howard got her under weigh and we went to 
Hyannis Port. In the quaint little village of Hyannis 
we took our leave of the schooner and Howard, and I 
noticed that, when Miss Annie bade him good-by, quite 
a large cable was parted. I was carried to the train on 
a stretcher, and, on my arrival home, began to mend 
slowly. A few weeks later, while hobbling around on 
a crutch, I received a letter from Howard, asking me to 
come to Chatham, Cape Cod, as he had no doubt that 
the climate, and especially the sea-breezes, would do me 
good. I knew that my uncle and Miss Annie had gone 
there to spend the remainder of the hot summer days, 
and had now been there some four weeks. They had 
taken one of the cosey, neat little fishermen’s homes for 
which Cape Cod is famous. 

I hobbled aboard the train, and at my journey’s end 
found uncle, cousin, and old shipmate waiting for me. 
Arriving at the cottage, a good down-east supper was 
heartily enjoyed, after which we assembled in the parlor 


A MAID OF THE HILLS. 


123 


and had some music, Miss Annie playing, while Howard 
sang. She looked more beautiful than ever, as she sat 
at the piano, and, as the melodious tones rose and fell, I 
wandered across the sea to the Cathedral in Valetta, 
joining the music with the picture, the sounds with the 
lights, the soft tones with the delicate tints. While thus 
enjoying my revery, Howard came to me and quietly, 
handed me his picture of the “ Lady of Malta.” Then, 
going over to the piano, he took Miss Annie in his arms 
and kissed her. Mr. Martine slowly crossed the room, 
took their hands in his, and said, “ That signature is good; 
and I’ll pay cash by giving my daughter to you.” 

As I was best man, I took the best man’s privilege. 
As a wedding-present, I sent her a pendant Maltese 
cross, which an old shipmate procured for me in Malta. 


A MAID OF THE HILLS. 

I. 

“ Pap sez, what’s yure licker a quort ?” 

“ Did he say he’d pay in koin or dust?” 

“ I tole yer what he said !” 

“Sharp as usual, Madge; ain’t yer? Well, yer pap 
ought to savey by this time; he’s bought enough of it. 
Tell him it’s two eagles a quart, a bird an’ a bit a pint, 
an’ six bits a half-pint.” 

“ I never did brag much on my book-learnin’, but I’ll 
be durned if I can’t figger better nor that. If it’s two 
dollars a quart, it ought to be one bird a pint, an’ four 
bits a half-pint.” 



124 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


“ Yure pap didn’t say what it ought to be, Madge; he 
axed what it was , an’ I tole yer.” 

Madge at once perceived her error, and slapping her 
skirt with her quirt, or Indian riding-whip, in a manner 
betraying annoyance, she filliped a fifty-cent piece on 
the bar, saying,— 

“ There’s four bits fer a half-pint!” 

The man behind the bar bit a piece of tobacco, the 
size of an egg, from a large plug, and, giving his trousers 
a hitch, said, “ No one could refuse yer nothin’, Madge. 
I’d give yer what yer wanted, even if I had to put it on 
the slate.” 

“ I’d change my name afore I’d have it a shinin’ on 
that docket/’ answered Madge. 

“ If all I hear’s true, it won’t be so durned long afore 
yer are a swapping the last half of it, Madge.” 

“All I’m swapping just now is them four bits fer the 
licker!” And the whip came down on the rough bar in 
a manner that gave emphasis to the remark. 

The proprietor of the “ King of the Hills Saloon” 
rinsed out a small black bottle, and, swinging a three- 
gallon demijohn across his shoulder, poured a portion of 
its contents into the vial. Apparently more escaped from 
the larger vessel than was intended, for he raised the bottle 
to his lips and took a swallow before handing it to Madge. 

“ If etiket was a-sellin’ fer a cent a mile, yer wouldn’t 
have enough to buy an inch!” she observed, as she 
thrust the bottle in her pocket. 

“ I’m obligeed to yer, Madge; we will fergit our 
manners now an’ then. What’s yourn ?” 

“ That ain’t what I ment, Ike; but rum’s done nothing 
to me that I should go back on it.” 


A MAID OF THE HILLS. 


125 


Then a black bottle and a tin-cup appeared upon the 
bar, and Madge helped herself, saying, as the tin neared 
her mouth, “ Well, may the dust of yure kerrige blind 
the eyes of yure enemies!” 

The King of the Hills Saloon was the most popular 
resort of its kind in Deadwood at the time the reader is 
introduced to it,—October, 1875. It was owned and 
kept by Ike Short, who had killed his man and “ crippled” 
many another. It boasted of a large hall, with a bar at 
one end of it, which was used for dancing, and not in¬ 
frequently for fighting; and the adjacent small bar-room, 
where the dialogue between Madge and Ike took place. 
This was a small, dingy apartment with but one window. 
The bar consisted of two common pine boards, supported 
by three empty whiskey-barrels. On the farther side of 
this were some rude shelves displaying various bottles. 
The building was unplastered; but the logs and “ chink¬ 
ing,” which formed its construction, were hidden from 
view, when within, by numerous coarse pictures, taken 
from different sporting periodicals. Two narrow benches 
were arranged close to the walls, and several low three- 
legged stools offered their services to those desiring a 
seat. And upon one of the former sat a gentleman 
Madge had failed to see when she entered, and whom 
she had not observed up to the time of her draining the 
cup. But Madge had not escaped the observation—the 
scrutiny, in fact—of Richard Redwood, who sat quietly in 
the shade, his appearance presenting a striking contrast 
to his surroundings. 

Redwood was a man twenty-eight years of age, tall, 
well-made, and handsome. A rather heavy, light mus¬ 
tache quite hid his exquisitely-cut mouth and his perfect 


126 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


teeth. His large, heavily-fringed eyes were very blue, 
and the dimples in his cheeks showed plainly even when 
his face was in repose. He wore a Norfolk jacket of 
Scotch stuff, and drab corduroy breeches. A narrow- 
rimmed felt hat and top-boots completed his get-up. 
To be sure, the belt of his jacket was partly hidden by 
the leather one holding his revolver and knife,—rather 
necessary adjuncts of the toilet in those days. 

It seems in a measure sacrilegious to attempt a pen- 
portrait of Madge. She should be seen to be appre¬ 
ciated ; yet even then, perhaps, her rarest gifts, her 
most valuable possessions, were the admirable qualities 
which sight, that is, a momentary inspection, might not 
reveal. 

Madge—the only name she knew—was eighteen years 
old. She was above the average height, and her superb¬ 
ly-moulded form was so finely developed that one might 
easily be led into error respecting her age. Her features 
were as distinctly cut as those of a cameo, and faultlessly 
classic. Her large, black eyes might have been a shade 
smaller without injury, and her hair of that blue-black 
color, found nowhere but on the raven’s throat, was 
braided into a broad plait, which fell far below her waist. 
Her hands and feet were small and noticeably shapely. 
Her skin was fleckless, and of that rich, indescribable 
color, that blending of red, brown, yellow, and white, 
seldom met with in nature, save in an October sunset and 
a California peach. Her voice was peculiarly soft and 
musical. 

The plain waist she wore was of blue flannel, and it 
fitted her snugly. Her skirt was of deerskin, trimmed 
only with a fringe of the same material around the bot- 


A MAID OF THE HILLS. 


127 


tom; she also wore a belt, from which peeped a pair of 
fair-sized, silver-mounted revolvers. Her magnificently- 
shaped head was crowned with a felt hat—evidently a 
man’s—of the common plain’s pattern. 

Madge was generous, brave, loyal, tender, and as proud 
as her own towering pines, that refused to bend to the 
storms of heaven or the shocks of earth. She was 
naturally, instinctively good and pure; her one dread¬ 
fully disfiguring blemish was her lamentable lack of edu¬ 
cation. She had never been to school in her life, and, 
though she could read and write after a fashion, yet her 
mode of speech, her whole deportment, in fact, was little 
different from that of her associates, who were men of 
the Ike Short type 

Her knowledge respecting refinement and modesty 
was precisely similar to that of the beautiful flower that 
blooms only at night. Her conception of right was also 
intuitive. She might kill the man who offered her an 
insult and never be conscious of one pang of remorse ; 
unless the bullet, after performing its fatal mission, should 
accidentally injure a rabbit. Then her grief would be sin¬ 
cere and pathetic. 

Such was Madge, a queer medley, a quaint pot-pourri, 
needing only artistic arrangement and finish to merge 
into the grandest symphony that ever thrilled the human 
soul. 

Though Redwood from where he sat could only catch 
momentary glimpses of her face, yet he was not slow to 
perceive its great beauty, nor was he insensible of the 
grace attending her every motion. 

And graceful she was, as the young fawns she pur¬ 
sued over the hills and plains, mounted, man-fashion, on 


128 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


her fleet pony, with her Henry rifle firmly clasped and 
held between herself and the pommel of her saddle. 
And like them, too, she was as wild; but it was a wildness 
that again resembled theirs in its innocence. 

It was an appetite, not a passion, Redwood knew when 
he looked upon her; and he was fully conscious that it 
was his palate rather than his mind which was agreeably 
excited. The sensation she occasioned was much like 
that experienced when gazing on a large, luscious 
peach. 

As Madge put the cup down, Redwood arose, and as 
he approached the door the astonishment her face re¬ 
vealed was genuine. Politely lifting his hat, he would 
have passed out, had she not prevented him by say¬ 
ing,— 

“Must be a stranger in these parts! Tenderfoot or 
drood ?” 

Redwood could scarcely conceal his mirth as he 
answered,— 

“ I cannot lay claim to being the former as I was a 
cavalry officer at one time, and am quite familiar with 
life in frontier settlements. I may be of the latter breed, 
but you really have the advantage of me.” 

“ Madge don’t take the advantage of no one!” broke 
in the proprietor, who overheard and entirely misunder¬ 
stood Redwood’s remark. 

“ He don’t mean the bulge ! I savey what he means,” 
replied Madge; and then, addressing Redwood, “ I 
don’t know what a drood is mesel’. But thar was a 
feller from Noo York here last week and Sol Perkins 
allowed he was a drood. He was pretty like and had 
sharp-pinted, shiny shoes on.” 


A MAID OF THE HILLS. 


129 


“ Oh, I fancy I know what you mean,” Redwood 
answered, laughing. “ No ; I am not a dude, miss— 
miss-” 

“ Yer needn’t be a missin’ her, stranger!” interrupted 
the proprietor. “ Madge’s her name.” 

To this Madge silently bowed assent, and again turn¬ 
ing to Redwood, said,— 

“Where yer hangin’ out?” 

“ I have made no arrangements yet; I came in but a 
while ago on the buckboard.” 

“ Pap an’ me can giv’ yer a shake down up to the crib ; 
an’ if yer’ve nothin’ pertic’lur to do, I can show yer how 
to rope a steer, still-hunt a elk, an’ open a jack-pot.” 

“ I will avail myself of your kind hospitality with 
great pleasure,” was the answer; and really pleased 
Redwood was at the prospect of abiding under the same 
roof with this wild, fascinating creature. 

“ Have yer a horse or a mule ?” was the next question. 

“ I fear I must plead not guilty,” was the reply. “ But 
perhaps our friend here, the proprietor, might assist me 
in that direction.” 

“ Right yer are !” glibly responded Ike, who fancied 
he saw an opportunity to realize something. “ I have a 
five-year-ole mare that can’t be beat. Yer can have her 
fer a few days on trial, as long as yer put up at Madge’s. 
Three hundurd’s the figger.” 

“ Now, he ain’t no sucker, Ike!” essayed Madge, 
determined that her new acquaintance should hot be 
duped. “ Didn’t he tell yer he’d bin in the calvery ? I 
rekon he knows a spavin from a beauty spot!” 

The mare was soon in readiness, and, scorning his 
proffered assistance, Madge swung herself gracefully 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


130 

into her own saddle, and with Redwood at her side away 
they go. 

“ Have you lived in this country long ?” he asked, as 
they trotted briskly along down the old road that 
winds through the hills. 

“ Bin in the crib ’bout three year. Cum from the 
Loop to the crib, an’ from Salt Lake to the Loop. Lived 
all aroun’, kinder.” 

What a pity, what a crime it is, thought Redwood, 
that this beautiful, bewitching girl should have been per¬ 
mitted to grow up in this manner. 

Have you any companions of your own sex ?” he 
asked, his mind still active in the same direction. 

“ Not a durned one!” responded Madge. “ The leddies 
round here ain’t just my style, yer see. In fact, I hain’t 
no companyuns but my horses an’ dogs an’ a few wild 
pets.” 

“ And fortunate you are that you have no others,” 
said Redwood, mentally, as he recalled with a shudder the 
class of “ leddies”—the sole representatives of that noble 
sex—he had met in Julesburg and Cheyenne in earlier 
days. “ Leddies,” some not ill-looking, some rather 
comely; but all of that unmistakable type which, when 
observing, a refined man instinctively sees beneath the 
rouge the Ten Commandments stamped upon their one 
cheek, and the significant word, violated , emblazoned 
upon their other. 

“ That trail takes yer to the ‘ Lidyer’ ’’, volunteered 
Madge, as they crossed a narrow pathway leading to the 
right. 

“ Ah, indeed!” answered Redwood, showing much 
interest. “ How far is the mine from here?” 


A MAID OF THE HILLS. 


131 

" Not more nor a mile, I re’kon,” was the response. 
“ The drood I spoke of allowed as how he owned it.” 

“ What is the man’s name ?” asked Redwood, bringing 
his horse down suddenly to a walk. 

“ Richerson. He’s got a gang a-watchin’ it now, an’ they 
have orders to drop any one that comes round a-meddlin’.” 

“ That’s cheerful news,” replied Redwood. “ My sole 
business at present is to examine the ‘ Lydia’ mine. I 
am sent here from New York by its owners. I cannot 
imagine who this Richardson is.” 

“ Well, yure not a-goin’ up thar till I’ve prospected a 
bit; yer hear that! I ain’t a-goin’ to have the only man 
I ever kind o’ knuckled to knocked over like a measerly 
kiote! Here’s the crib!” 

A rude structure, whose exterior was not unlike the 
bar-room they had lately left, was directly before them. 
It had more windows than Ike’s establishment, and the 
little flower-patches each side of the doorway and the 
well-swept walk bespoke a neatness which was not ap¬ 
parent in connection with the former. 

A typical frontiersman came around the corner of the 
building as the horses stopped. 

“ Pap, I’ve fetched a boarder! He’s from New York, 
an’ he’s bisness at the ‘ Lidyer.’ ” 

“ Shake, stranger,” said the individual known as Utah 
Bill, reaching a large, bony hand to Redwood. “Any 
one’s welcome here that my little gal fancies. She never 
mistakes in the quortz nor the color!” 

“ I’m glad to meet you,” answered Redwood, fully 
comprehending the intended compliment. “ I should 
like to put up here for a few days. My name is Red¬ 
wood, Richard Redwood.” 


132 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


“ Proud to know yer, Mr. Redwood! Gentlemen of 
yure kidney are scarce in this section. Will yer licker?” 

“ I believe I will take a drop. I have had no break¬ 
fast yet, and I feel kind of flabby.” 

“ Here, Madge,” shouted Bill; but he was interrupted 
by Redwood, who, rightly conjecturing his purpose, 
drew from his pocket a handsome silver flask, and said, 
“ Do not disturb your daughter. Try some of this 
brandy; you’ll find it a trifle better than you can get 
here.” 

“ Right yer are, Redwood ! or Dick, if yer don’t buck 
at my familyerarity!” exclaimed Bill, smacking his lips. 
“ I hain’t tasted stuff like that since I left the States back 
in ’50.” 

“ I should much prefer to have you call me Dick,” 
answered Redwood; not deeming it objectionable to be 
on familiar terms with the father of Madge. “ Do you 
know this man Richardson your daughter spoke of?” 

“ I seen him down to the saloon when he was here. 
I put him up fer kind of a cold-deck. He’s got some 
tuff ones guarding in the * Lidyer,’ which he claims.” 

“ But the ‘ Lydia’ is owned by a syndicate composed 
of New York gentlemen who command many millions of 
dollars. I am a mining engineer, employed by them to 
make a thorough examination of the property.” 

“ Have yer any pals with yer?” 

“ Not a soul,” was the answer. 

“ Take my advice, Dick, and lay around here a day or 
so. Madge will find out all ’bout it. Thar’s not a feller 
in the Hills that don’t love her an’ fear her. What’s got 
her ? Where are yer, gal ?” 

“ She’s dun took her rifle an’ rid oph!” shouted back 


A MAID OF THE HILLS. 133 

a voice, which was of Madge’s sex and unmistakably 
African. 

“ Thar’s a dance down at the ‘ King’ to-night. We’ll 
go down, and perhaps I can pick up a few pointers for 
yer. I wouldn’t let on jist yit what yure bisness is.” 

“Very well, I will not,” answered Dick, wondering 
where Madge had gone. 

The colored woman prepared a suitable meal, and, 
after breaking his long fast, Dick spread a blanket under 
a neighboring giant pine and was soon lost in visions 
wherein Madge conspicuously figured. 


II. 

The afternoon wore on, but Madge had not returned. 
Old Sol disappeared in all the glorious splendor of a 
Western sunset as Redwood and Bill mounted their 
horses and started for the town. 

“ Are you not anxious, alarmed at all about your 
daughter ? Is she not afraid to be out after dark alone ?” 
asked Dick, somewhat uneasy himself. 

“ Madge afeered / Why, Madge ain’t afeered of the 
devil, Dick! She’s a salting some deer down on the 
Belle Fourche , and I reckon she’s a watchin’ em.” 

But she was not. Madge was at the Lydia mine lay¬ 
ing down the law to the rough gang Richardson had put 
in charge. She told them that a representative of the 
lawful owners of the mine was at her house, and that he 
would be at the mine in a few days to carry out his in¬ 
structions, and that if they dared to interfere with him, 
she- 

Well it was a terrible threat, and they all knew that 
Madge never broke a promise. 



134 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


The dancing hall was ablaze with lights, coal-oil 
lamps of various cheap varieties were arranged around 
the room on small shelves, and a few lanterns swung 
suspended from the ceiling, which, as Ike expressed it, 
“ Gave the thing tone.” 

Some fifty rough-appearing men of different ages and 
about thirty hard-looking women were congregated 
therein. The hurdy-gurdy in the corner was, in dis¬ 
cordant tones, grinding out “ Annie of the Vale.” The 
air was thick with tobacco- and lamp-smoke; those who 
were not conversing were swearing. A shot was fired as 
a signal to take partners for a reel. 

It was at this moment Bill and Dick entered the room. 
The former was, of course, well known to all. But many 
were the glances of curiosity directed at Dick, who, 
though fully conscious of the speculation his presence 
gave rise to, showed no sign of embarrassment or annoy¬ 
ance. 

Two tough-looking individuals entered and went 
straight to the bar, and while drinking seemed to be 
earnestly conversing with Ike Short, who was dispensing 
the fluid. “ That’s him over thar with Utah Bill,” Ike 
says, as if in reply to some question. 

“Well, I’ve obeyed Madge up to date an’ never 

bucked! But d- me if I’m goin’ to have her, or 

him, or any one else skeer me outen a payin’ job.” 

“ Why, what’s up, Mose ?” asked Ike, apparently inter¬ 
ested. 

The man called Mose then related the visit of Madge 
to the mine, her orders respecting Redwood, and her 
threat if they should fail to obey. 

“ Richerson seemed to talk straight,” responded Ike, 



A MAID OF THE HILLS. 1 35 

who had a kindly feeling for the man who had acted so 
royally at his bar. 

“ Straight or not,” answered the other of the toughs, 
“ he pays well, an’ all we’ve got to do is our dooty.” 

And in this manner they drink and talk, while Dick, 
not ten yards from them, is wondering where Madge is. 

He turns to make an observation to her father, and is 
met by a woman, who says,— 

“ You’re not dancing, stranger; can’t you treat ?” 

Knowing that he is in a Rome where it is the safer 
policy to do as others do, he answered that he would. 
Then with his unknown companion he proceeded to the 
bar. 

“ How are you, Mose ? How are you, Shorty?” ex¬ 
claimed the woman, addressing the two tough characters 
who still lingered at the dispensary. 

“ Right lively, Calamity ; how’s yerself!” was the re¬ 
sponse of Mose. 

“ Perhaps your friends will take something ?” suggested 
Dick. 

“ You bet they will!” was the reply; and then, turning 
to her acquaintances, “ Name your pizen, boys.” 

After drinking the health of Redwood, Mose, who 
seemed to be a trifle unsteady, turned to him and said,— 

“ Are you the owner of the ‘ Lidyer ?’ ” 

“ No, indeed ! Why should you think so ?” was the 
reply. 

“ I heered some talk to that efleck, an’ I have orders 
from Mr. Richerson, the owner, not to allow no meddlin’ 
round thar.’* 

“ Madge wants to see yer outside .” 

These words were whispered into Redwood’s ear by 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


136 

Bill, who carelessly sauntered up and leaned against the 
bar, as Dick, saying, “ Excuse me a moment/’ stepped 
outside. 

There sat Madge, mounted on a different horse from 
the one she had ridden earlier in the day. 

“ That ain’t no place fer j you!” she said, as Dick drew 
near to her. “ Let’s git up to the crib.” 

Dick did not wait for a second invitation. He stepped 
back to inform Bill of his intended departure, and a 
moment later was again trotting by the side of Madge 
down the old road. 

What a glorious night it was ! The moon was full; 
the myriads of stars were endeavoring to outvie each 
other in brilliancy, which was scarcely remarked, owing 
to the more powerful influence of the “ Silver Queen.” 
The soft ambient air was heavily perfumed with the odors 
of the mammoth pines that loomed about them as they 
left the little settlement behind. 

“ Where were you this afternoon, Madge? Your 
father said you were off to the Belle Fourche .” 

“ No; I’ll go thar to-morrer, if yer’ll go along.” 

“ I will gladly go with you anywhere, Madge; but I 
think I ought to pay my respects to the ‘ Lydia’ first.” 

“The 4 Lidyer’s’ not goin’ to stampede! Yer’ll find 
her thar later.” 

And with this he considered himself engaged for the 
morrow. 

Fair was the dawn; the sun came up bright and 
beautiful, and soon after breakfast Madge and Dick, 
mounted on their fresh, spirited horses, set forth for the 
Belle Fourche. They took the same old road that one 
year later was pressed by many of Dick’s friends, as, 


A MAID OF THE HILLS. 


137 


hungry, disgusted, and weary, after a tiresome and un¬ 
successful scout, they rode into the hills on the poor 
jaded beasts that had escaped the butcher’s knife solely 
because they were not in fit condition to eat. 

Madge broke the silence by saying: “ I notis you don’t 
talk like I do; yer talk more like folks in books.” 

“ I speak in the same way as do those with whom I 
was brought up, and with whom I associate.” 

“ D’ yer think yer could learn me to talk like yer 
does ?” asked Madge, fixing her glorious eyes on his, as 
her cheeks for the first time in her life betrayed a faint 
suspicion of bashfulness. 

“ With ease and with pleasure,” answered Dick. “ I 
will begin now, if you promise not to be angry when I 
correct you.” 

“ Angry / me git mad at you /” And the rich musical 
laugh of Madge rang out upon the crisp air. 

How happy they were, so far from every living soul 
save each other, as they rode along over one of the most 
picturesque roads in what has not inappropriately been 
termed “ God’s own country!” The sun was striving 
ineffectually to pierce through the rich luxuriant foliage 
forming an archway above their heads. The California 
quails ran along before them as fearlessly as do the 
chickens before a country-wagon on an Eastern farm ; and 
not infrequently an antelope or a blacktail deer would 
bound across their course, aroused from their noon-day 
slumber by merry peals of laughter and the clatter of 
the horses’ feet. 

It was a never-to-be-forgotten day to Redwood. He 
had been interested, amused, fascinated, and surprised at 
one and the same time by the beautiful girl, who was 

12* 


138 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


quite unconscious of the impression she had made; and 
before he reached home he was conversing with himself 
after this fashion,— 

“ If I might only teach her, and of course it will be 
an easy matter, there is no woman in the world I would 
rather marry! Gad ! how the fellows at the next Patri¬ 
arch ball will envy me when they see me sail in with my 
wild flower! and how secretly jealous all the fair ones 

will be of her. The radiant - (and he mentioned 

the name of a reigning belle) will have to look to her 
laurels when my queen of the hills enters the arena!” 

And with similar romantic reflections, which clearly 
showed the way matters were tending, the " crib” was at 
length reached. 

Soon after they had done justice to a venison steak, 
which could not have been more temptingly prepared 
by an imported chef Madge retired to her own apart¬ 
ment. 

Dick and Bill sat smoking before the fire which was 
blazing on the hearth. 

“Well!” observed the latter; “I re’kon Madge put 
yer through to-day?” 

“ Your daughter is a wonderful girl, Bill! truly wonder¬ 
ful /” was the reply. 

“ I allow she’s above the averege ’croppin’s ! an’ Dick, 
she ain't my darter /” 

“ What!” exclaimed Dick, as fears too horrible to con¬ 
template flashed upon his mind. “ Not your daughter ?’ 

“ No ; I’ll tell yer what I’ve never tole mortal afore.” 
And then, helping himself from the bottle that stood near 
by, Utah Bill puffed at his pipe a moment and then said,— 

“ I was a-dealin’ faro down to Salt Lake City back in 



A MAID OF THE HILLS. 


139 


*57* Yer may hav’ heered of a party of immigrunts 
from Arkinsaw that was massacreed by the Mormons 
an’ Injuns in the fall of that year. The killin’ was called 
the Mountain Medders Massacre.” 

“ Yes, yes;” assented Dick, showing considerable ex¬ 
citement and intense interest. 

“ Well, the devils butchered the hull outfit, ’cept the 
kids that were too young to blab. These was divided 
’round like. Pete Slocum got Madge. She worn’t above 
two weeks ole, the doctor sed. Born on the trip, yer see. 
Pete was a onery cuss, an’ I knoo he’d not act squar’ with 
her; an’ as he owed me a gamblin’ bill, I jest tole him 
I’d take the babe an’ call things settled. He bucked at 
first; but a week later he handed her over. I ’dopted 
her, an’ moved up on the Loop Fork, whar I lived a 
spell on a cattle ranch ; then I cum here. Every one— 
Madge herself—thinks she’s my kid. She’s bin a good 
gal to me, an’ Dick, she’s as pure as the nuggets yer’ll 
find in the ‘ Lidyer’! But I allow she needs polishin’. I 
didn’t edicate her purpusly! I saveyed that if she got 
to knowin’ too much, she’d kind o’ long fer the things 
an’ the companyuns I couldn’t giv’ her. An’ we don’t 
pine fer things we know nothing ’bout. See ? So I jest 
let her grow up wild-like, knowin’ she was of the right 
breed,—that Arkansaw party was thoroughbreds, they 
was,—an’ that when the right one cum along he cu’ld 
easily teach her.” 

“ I have begun that already, Bill,” responded Dick, 
who felt greatly relieved. 

“ I sorter called yer hand afore you’d anted,” answered 
Bill. “ But I saw what yer was a drawin’ to, an’ I kind 
o’ knowed yer’d fill.” 


140 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


“ Sir,” replied Dick, “ I am thoroughly infatuated with 
your adopted daughter. I will instruct her and guard 
her as carefully as if she were my sister, and later, with 
her consent and your approval, I shall be proud to make 
her my wife.” 

‘‘Shake an’ licker, Dick!” exclaimed Bill, springing 
from his seat. “ Durn me if the Epistle Pori wouldn’t 
drink on such a run o’ luck as this!” 

What happy, blissful days those were that followed. 
Constantly together, Dick and Madge spent their time 
riding and walking, hunting or fishing, and in the midst 
of her pleasure Madge was continually receiving valuable 
instruction. In fact, a very great improvement was 
already noticeable. After repeating a sentence Dick had 
spoken correctly for her, she said, “ My men friends will 
not know me, I shall be so changed.” A week earlier 
she might have said, “ the fellers,” or, worse yet, “ gen¬ 
tlemen friends.” 

On a bright morning, a few days later, Bill and Dick 
started for the “ Lydia.” “ It’s alius best to be fixed fer 
the worst, then yer won’t never be disjointed,” was the 
observation of Bill that prompted Dick to carry his rifle. 
They reached the trail leading to the “ Lydia,” and, 
turning into it, jogged along, single-file. 

‘‘Hullo!” exclaimed Bill, as they ascended the slope 
adjacent to the mine, “ that hut’s new to me, an’ thar’s 
some one in it; see the smoke?” 

“ Yes,” answered Dick ; “ some of Richardson’s gang, I 
fancy.” 

“ Keep a sharp lookout, Dick! These devils of his 
have been keepin’ pretty full of licker lately, an’ they 
may show fight.” 


A MAID OF THE HILLS. 


141 

He had hardly ceased speaking when the man called 
Mose appeared in the doorway of the hut, rifle in hand. 
The two horsemen greeted him civilly, and, dismounting, 
tied their horses near by. 

“ What might yure bisnis be, Utah Bill ?” asked Mose. 

“ This gentleman’s bisnis is to examine the mine fer 
•the benefit of its owners,” answered Bill, rather airily. 

" Richerson is the owner, an’ I got orders not to ’low 
no one ’round here,” responded Mose, fondling his 
rifle. 

“ I do not recognize this man Richardson,” replied 
Dick. “ My orders are direct from head-quarters, and I 
intend to obey them. I will relieve you of all responsi¬ 
bility by informing Richardson that I overruled your 
objection.” 

“ But yer hain’t overruled it yet,” retorted Mose, in an 
insinuating way and with a treacherous leer. 

“Cum on, Dick. None of your nonsense, Mose; I 
hain’t fergotten that Virginny City bisnis yet,” said Bill. 

Grinding an oath between his teeth, Mose disappeared 
within the hut, and the others strolled off towards the 
opening of the mine. They were standing quite near to 
this cavity when- 

Bang! bang! went the report of two rifles, and Bill 
dropped suddenly to the ground. 

Hastily cocking his rifle, Dick drew it to his shoulder, 
and, covering the man he saw in the act of aiming at 
himself, he pulled the trigger. Then, turning to Bill, he 
asked where he was hit. 

“ Leg’s broke, that’s all. We must clean them out; I 
can shoot yet,” was the reply. 

" Zip! zip !” came two more bullets; and as the shooters 



142 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


spring back to cover, two well-directed shots are sent 
after them by our heroes. 

“ I b’lieve we fetched ’em both, Dick,” laughed Bill, in 
spite of his wound. 

Dick descended the slope cautiously and saw stretched 
before him three men, apparently dead; one by the 
door of the hut, and the two at whom they had just 
fired. 

“ Shorty’s dead ! yer needn’t fool with him. Giv’ me 
a drink!” came from the mouth of one of the men, as 
Dick bent over the other. He hastily unscrewed his 
flask and handed it to the wounded man. 

“ I’m dun up right this time, I reckon,” he said, as he 
drained the flask. 

Dick extended his hand for the flask, and the man 
grabbed his wrist, and, with a sudden and powerful jerk, 
pulled him forward on his face. An instant later the 
supposed dying man was uppermost and he had Dick by 
the throat. 

But Dick had not been idle. He had the other wrist 
of the man in a vice-like grip, and with his clinched fist 
was punching his assailant’s ribs with as much force as 
his awkward position allowed. 

Poor Bill saw it all, but was powerless to interfere. It 
would endanger Dick’s life to shoot, and he could not 
crawl that far. “ Oh, if Madge was only here!” he 
sighed,- 

When, almost instantaneously with his thought, her 
horse springing along like a frightened black-tail, her 
long hair streaming in the wind, Madge flings herself 
from her excited brute, places the muzzle of her pistol 
against the temple of the man engaged in strangling 



DID IT PAY? I 43 

Dick, and says, calmly though sternly, “ What did I 
tell you ?” 

Never was abject terror more faithfully illustrated than 
in the face of the villain, who relaxed his hold on Dick 
and fell backward; while Dick, springing to his feet 
clasped Madge in his arms and imprinted on her lips the 
first and only kiss they had ever known. 

In this manner the “ Richerson” dynasty was born, and 
so it perished. Its existence was as brief as its demise 
was sudden. 

Solely to enable him to show some reason for remain¬ 
ing in the hills, Dick accepted the position of superin¬ 
tendent and general manager of the “ Lydia;” and at the 
close of a year that had been delightful and beneficial to 
both, Dick bore his treasure away to New York, where 
his prophecy respecting the feelings of the “ smart set” 
was doubtless fulfilled. 


DID IT PAY? 

“ Shtop dat man! He have shtole someting!” shouted 
the Swedish man-of-all-work of the sutler’s store, at a 
post in Western Kansas, on a warm August afternoon in 
186 -, at the same time pointing to one of two soldiers 
hastily crossing the space laying between the sutler’s 
buildings and the banks of the sluggish stream which, 
in deep and erratic “ bends,” found its way past the so- 
called fort to the Arkansas River. The person to whom 
the appeal was made was the officer in command of one 



144 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


of the companies composing the garrison, and the soldier 
pointed out as the thief was the first sergeant of his 
company. 

“ Halt! Markham ! Come back here !” 

As he turned to obey the order the soldier drew a 
bottle quickly from the breast of his coat and tossed it 
over the bank of the stream. But not so deftly as to 
escape the eye of his officer, who, stepping to the brink, 
saw the article lying at the edge of the water. 

“ Go down and get that bottle.” 

The order was of course obeyed, and with the blush 
of shame showing in the drink-hued cheek, and with 
averted eyes, the culprit faced his commander. 

“ How did you get that?” 

Fallen as he was, the man could not at once confess 
himself a thief, and the question was repeated in more 
peremptory tones before he said,— 

“ I took it; that’s all.” 

“ Go to your quarters in close arrest. Charges will be 
preferred against you to-morrow. You have done 
enough to warrant such action in your case before this 
act, but this is beyond endurance.” 

But, on the morrow, other things claimed the attention 
of the officer, and the sergeant was forgotten. It was a 
“ cholera season” on the plains, and already the Dark 
Angel had spread his wings over the luckless garrison, 
and before the dawn of the next day the officer was him¬ 
self face to face with the Destroyer, while near him lay 
his loved ones, doomed not to outlast the day. By a 
seeming miracle he escaped, but convalescence was long 
and tedious, and before he returned from a sorrowful trip 
to his far Eastern home, the station of his company had 


DID IT PAY? 


145 


been changed, and he found it at last, at a small post in 
Southwestern Colorado, with a new first sergeant and 
Markham a private in the ranks. He was rapidly going 
“ from bad to worse,” and much of his time was passed 
in the guard-house, where he was confined as being the 
only way to keep him sober. As a prisoner he, with 
others in a like situation, was employed in “ policing,”— 
i.e. y “ cleaning up” about the post,—and in this way was 
brought frequently in contact with the junior members 
of families of officers. One of these, the post chaplain, 
had recently moved from an eastern station, and in a 
conversation with one of the sons, the culprit ascertained 
from whence he came, and began to ask questions; finally 
stating that he was from the same city. Of course the 
boy must tell his father, and he, having a “ genealogical 
bent,” remembered the name as that of a one-time college 
president, a “ D.D.,” who had stood high among his 
fellows, but was then a very aged man. Could this man 
be his son ? The boy was instructed to ascertain, and 

in a day or two made his report: “ Yes, he is Dr. M - ’s 

son.” 

“ Oh, the pity of it. The black sheep of the flock. 
How can he have fallen so low ?” was the thought of the 
chaplain, followed by, “ Does his father know where and 
what he is ?” And then plans for communicating with 
his family began to formulate in the good man’s mind. 
But it was a delicate thing to undertake. How was he 
to begin ? How tell whether his information—even if 
he did not tell the worst—would be welcome ? He had 
not become so debased in the course of a few weeks or 
months. Might he not have been turned away from 
home—a hopeless case—a shame and reproach to his 

G k 13 


146 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


family? Might it not be that news of his death would 
be the most welcome ? There appeared no hope of any 
reformation for him, and he seemed to have lost all 
ambition of an honorable kind, and the guard-house to 
be shunned only because when confined there he could 
not obtain liquor. His company-commander was soon 
informed of the chaplain’s discovery, and they took 
counsel together on the subject. 

“ Degenerate sons of noble sires” are not very uncom¬ 
mon personages in the army, though fewer now than at 
that date. The case was mentioned at a casual meeting 
of officers in the office of the post-commander. 

That individual, a cynical old fossil, who could not be¬ 
lieve that anything good could be covered by the coat of 
an enlisted man, only sneered when possible reformation 
was spoken of, while another, himself raised from the ranks 
by exigencies of war service and displays of brute cour¬ 
age, and who was not always sober, gave expression to 

his views : “ D-n him, let him go. I won’t dry-nurse 

any-man; it won’t pay.” 

But his company-commander thought it would pay. 
Strict even to sternness in discipline, he still, under a 
brusque exterior, carried a warm heart, and his recent 
sorrows had made it beat none the less tenderly. Care¬ 
fully, and after long deliberation, he penned a letter to 
the father, in his far-away city home, telling him how he 
had ascertained his relationship to the soldier, and of his 
own interest in him; of the little chance of his reforma¬ 
tion at the place where he then was, and hinting that it 
might be best to use any influence he had to get him 
discharged by execution order and try to reform him at 
home. 




DID IT PAY? 


147 


The reply came in due time, written for the octogena¬ 
rian father by a daughter, who, after thanking the officer 
for his care and sympathy, and apologizing for laying 
bare family troubles to a total stranger, told the story of 
theirs. Their “ black sheep” was an only son, and had 
graduated at college in time to go into the war of the 
Rebellion, in which he had held a commission as captain. 
But his college life had been marked by more than one 
drunken orgie, and camp-life did not tend to diminish 
his excesses. After his return to civil life he had been 
furnished capital to enter business, but his dissipated 
habits had still clung to him, and one year sufficed to 
close it, a financial wreck. Expostulations and prayers 
seemed only to add to his recklessness, and he enlisted, 
after a scene with his father, which cannot well be de¬ 
scribed. He had not been heard from for months, and 
the family, all but the writer, had begun to think of him 
as dead. His name was rarely mentioned, but she, who 
had been “ his pet sister,” had never ceased to hope and 
pray for him. It was a letter to “ bring tears to eyes 
unused to weep,” and the officer laid it aside as one to 
ponder over, and to wonder how, with such love to 
anchor him, any man could be dashed to pieces on the 
rocks of dissipation. 

He would make an effort to save him. 

Communication with the busy world was slow and 
difficult, especially during the winter months, and several 
weeks had elapsed since the officer had written to his 
new correspondent. Markham had been on another 
spree, which had nearly ended in delirium tremens, and 
had confined him for some time to the hospital. He 
had him returned to his company, but was still pale and 


148 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


“shaky,” when another letter was received by his com¬ 
mander. If the former had been enough to touch the 
most obdurate heart, what could be said of the latter ? 
Writing to one, who, though a stranger, she was sure 
was a sympathizer, the warm-hearted sister let her feel¬ 
ings have full vent, and hard, indeed, would have been 
the heart, and tearless the eye, which could have with¬ 
stood her pleading. The recipient took one day to think 
of it, and then sent for the object of her prayers. Hag¬ 
gard and wan, with a hopeless but also defiant look, he 
presented himself at the quarters of the officer. 

“Well, Markham, how are you getting on?” 

“ I’m ready for duty, sir.” 

“ So I suppose. But what about this drinking ? Are 
you going to keep it up ?” 

“ I don’t know.” 

“ Why don’t you know? You do know that if you 
keep it up it will kill you, and that before long. You 
know that it is constantly getting you into trouble. You 
know that without it you can be one of the best men in 
the company. Why will you not let it alone ? I know 
your history, and you come of too good stock to fill a 
drunkard’s grave.” 

The soldier had, up to this time, kept his face par¬ 
tially turned away, and had been looking at some out-of- 
door object. But at this he turned a startled look upon 
his questioner, and a flush spread over his wan features, 
while his hand grasped the back of a chair for support. 
Taking from his table a letter, the officer said, “ Do you 
know that writing?” 

His look was pitiable. It was only by a supreme 
effort that he mastered his emotion enough to say (and 


DID IT PAY? 


I49 


then his tones were broken), “Yes, sir; it is my 
sister’s.” 

“ You did not know that I was corresponding with 
your family about you. This is not the first letter I 
have received, but after I had read it I determined I 
would not answer it till I had let you know about it, so 
that they could be told what you thought you could or 
would do. What shall I tell them ? But before you 
answer I wish you to read the letter. You will see that 
you are not forgotten, but that she whom you called 
your ‘ pet sister’ loves you and prays for you still. 
Think of that old, gray-haired father and your old 
mother,—heart-broken over their only boy,—and for their 
sakes—if not for your own—say you will reform.” 

By this time the once strong man was shaking like an 
aspen leaf. Taking the opened letter handed him he 
began its perusal. He had been standing, but so great 
was his unnerving that, fearing he would drop, he was 
told to be seated. For a moment he read, then, resting 
his head on the edge of the table by which he sat, he 
broke down, the letter dropped unheeded to the floor, 
and sob after sob shook his frame, while the other oc¬ 
cupant of the room, the muscles of his face working 
suspiciously, looked with misty eyes on the scene 
without. 

The storm at length passed, and, handing him the 
letter, the officer informed him that he could keep and 
read it at his leisure. “ But,” he said, “ Markham, I am 
not talking to you now as officer to soldier, anxious to 
have him do better as a soldier, but as man to man; as 
one who believes that you can stop drinking, and hopes 
that you will.” 

x 3* 


ISO 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


There was a new look on the tear-stained face, and a 
new light in the eye, as he said, after some delay,— 

“ Captain, you are the first one who has spoken kindly 
to me about drinking since I came into the army. It 
will be a hardfight , bat I'll stop , if I can! 

****** 

It was “ a hard fight.” He was given some light duty, 
which, while it did not tax his strength, kept his mind 
employed, and located him where he was under the eye 
of his company-commander several times during the 
day. But the change was too great. The sudden and 
complete withdrawal of his accustomed stimulant brought 
on delirium, and confined him to a hospital-cot, from 
which he arose gaunt and haggard at the end of two 
months. During that interval each of the weekly mails 
brought a letter from that faithful sister, some written for 
herself, and others, in penning which she acted as amanu¬ 
ensis for the aged father or mother, some addressed to 
him, others to his captain. The man had taken “ a new 
lease of life.” To keep him from being troubled by some 
of his former associates in the company, he was placed on 
duty as clerk, and given a bed in the room where his 
work was performed. 

Months had passed, when to the company-commander 
a letter, addressed with tremulous characters, was handed 
with other mail. It bore the post-mark of an Eastern 
office, and proved to have been written by Markham’s 
father. For a man of his age, writing had become 
almost impossible, but he wrote, he felt that he could 
no longer delegate to another the pleasure of thanking 
the man who, among his numerous duties of another 
kind, could find time, and had patience and faith enough, 


DID IT PAY? 


151 

to endeavor to assist the poor victim of appetite in, 
rising from the depth to which he had fallen. Did he 
ever visit the city ? If so, he hoped that he would favor 
them with at least a call, that they might tell him, better 
than could be done by correspondence, of their gratitude. 

The reduction of the army and consolidation of its 
regiments began in 1869, broke up that to which the 
officer belonged, and scattered its members, officers, and 
enlisted alike among others, or left them unassigned, for 
a time, to any. Markham was assigned to one serving 
at a frontier post in Kansas, and there his former com¬ 
mander found him, when, some months later, he was 
himself ordered to the same regiment, but a different 
company, for duty. There was a Good Templar organi¬ 
zation in the garrison, which Markham had joined, and 
he came, fresh and healthy-looking, to see his old friend. 
He had not tasted liquor since he had given his promise, 
and was looking forward to going home, at the end of 
his enlistment, a reformed man. 

But alas for human plans and hopes ! His company 
was soon ordered to the principal post in the State, near 
its largest city, and he was thus removed from associa¬ 
tion with his Templar friends. Men can always be found 
mean enough to attempt to compass the undoing of any 
one struggling out of the depths of sin’s quagmires, and 
at a soldier’s picnic, soon after his arrival at his new 
station, he was given a glass of drugged lemonade. The 
incarnate devil who planned the trick had reason to be 
satisfied with his work. As has so often been proved in 
other cases, it showed that the demon was not dead, 
but sleeping, and in an hour Markham was helplessly 
drunk. He failed to return to duty when his hours of 


152 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


liberty had expired, and, after a week’s debauch, was 
found and confined to await trial by court-martial. At 
his trial, when asked if he had any witnesses to call or 
statement to make in his own behalf, he told his story, 
and how his fall was brought about, and was given a 
light sentence, which, on recommendation of the court, 
was wholly remitted. 

But he could not go home to tell the story of his re¬ 
lapse. He enlisted for another term, and hearing that a 
party was to be sent to Southern Utah for surveying duty, 
went to his captain and asked to be sent with it that he 
might be removed from temptation, and given “ another 
chance.” His request was granted, and among the 
cafions and on the alkaline deserts of the Colorado River, 
the battle against appetite had to be fought over again. 
Late in the autumn he was sent with despatches to the 
post where he had first given his pledge for reformation, 
lost his way in a storm, and, “ more dead than alive,” was 
found by some Mexican shepherds, and frozen and help¬ 
less taken to his destination. All the long winter he 
was an inmate of the hospital, but fortunately escaped 
mutilation, and returned to his company to serve the 
remainder of his enlistment. 

Meanwhile his former commander, during a leave of 
absence, had visited the city whence he came. But he 
hesitated to call on the family of the soldier, because he 
dreaded telling what he was sure he would be asked to 
give, the whole story of Markham’s army life, including 
his recent relapse. But after a night for thought, he sent 
a card to the address given him, and in a short time was 
summoned to the reception-room of his hotel to meet 
his correspondents. 


DID IT PAY? 


53 


Tall, stately, and dignified, but with his heart shining 
in his face, the aged father grasped his hand, expressing 
his joy at seeing him, while at the same time he en¬ 
deavored to pour forth his thanks. But voice failed him, 
and he could only say, “ God bless you. I cannot tell 
you how happy I am to see you,” a feeling in which, 
though silently, after the first introduction, the sister 
evidently fully shared. 

“ But you must not stop at a hotel. My house is to 
be your house while you remain in the city. We have 
a carriage at the door and will take you home with 
us.” 

Excuses would have been of no avail, and the officer 
soon found himself installed as guest in a pleasant home 
of cultured people, one filled with evidences of wealth 
and refinement. “ How could a man with such a home 
fling all away for drink ?” was his thought, and he 
dreaded the relation he knew would be asked for. How 
could he tell that old father, whose whole life had evi¬ 
dently been one of strictest integrity, that his son had 
fallen so low ? Could he tell him of the mire through 
which that son had wallowed, of the low associations 
into which his cursed appetite had led him ! He could 
not shock that venerable lady by a recital of the circum¬ 
stances attending the relapse which had overtaken her 
boy, or profane the ears of those sisters with stories of 
his orgies. He would tell only the fact that he had 
fallen, risen again, and was endeavoring to fully free him¬ 
self from the grip of the destroyer. 

But after the dinner-hour, before the gas had been 
lighted in the parlors, the father drew the chairs of his 
wife and himself close to that of their guest, and as he 


154 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


sat holding her hand in his, asked for the story. The 
narrator endeavored to follow the plan he had mentally 
sketched, but he was a bungler in deception, and his 
hearers were soon convinced that something was being 
kept back. They appreciated his motive, and did not 
press their questions. But it was only by the utmost 
exercise of his self-control that he told the tale. Before 
him sat the aged pair ; tears, which she made no attempt 
to conceal or wipe away, streamed from the eyes of the 
mother, as she sat with her hand tightly clasped in one 
of her husband’s, while the other, lying on the arm of his 
chair, trembled as though palsied. The narrator had 
supposed they were the only occupants of the room, till 
the rustle of a skirt, behind him, betrayed the presence 
of another as she left it, unable to control her feel¬ 
ings. 

It was a scene to be shortened as much as possible. 
They were not told of the first episode; to know that 
her son had been a thief would have killed that mother. 
No further allusion to the matter was made by the 
parents during the days the officer remained their guest, 
but that sister could not let the subject rest. Anxiety 
and faith seemed by times to have possession of her 
mind. Would he wholly reform ? Could he do so ? 
Would he ever be able to say “no,” if asked by some 
seeming friend to drink? These questions, and others 
of like import, had to be answered over and over again, 
sometimes looking into tear-filled eyes, at others at a 
face bright with faith and hope. 

The memory of that father’s benediction still abides 
with its recipient, and the parting words of the mother— 
“ Tell my son, for me, of a mother’s love and prayers for 


DID IT PAY? 


155 


him”—was supplemented by those of that other loving 
heart,—“ Tell him that my prayers go up for him daily, 
and that I pray, believing that I shall be heard.” 

More than a year passed before the son was seen by 
him to whom the messages were intrusted. But there 
had been no more relapses; and when they did meet, the 
soldier had served out his enlistment, and, happy in 
anticipation of returning to his home, came to thank his 
friend for what he had done for him. His father had 
died, one of his last messages to absent ones being to the 
son, telling him of his anxiety for him, and of his faith in 
his permanent reformation. As he shook hands with the 
departing one, and wished him a happy future, and saw 
him leave full of spirit and energy, the officer turned 
into his tent soliloquizing, “ Thank God that I did it; it 
has paid, many times over.” 

* ***** * 

Four or five months had passed, the campaign was 
closed, and troops were again at their stations, when, on 
visiting the orderly-room of his company, after guard¬ 
mounting, the captain found Markham there awaiting 
him, with notice of his enlistment and order to report for 
duty. Contrary to usual custom, he had not been held 
at the rendezvous to await the forwarding of a detach¬ 
ment, but had been sent alone to join his company. 

He had been heard from but once since he left, but 
then he had stated that he had an offer of business, 
which he thought he would accept, and that all had gone 
well with him thus far. Taking him aside, the officer 
asked why he had again enlisted. 

“ I did not dare to stay out. Almost as soon as I 
reached the city I met two or three of my former friends, 


156 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


and was at once asked to drink. Thank God, I could 
say, * No !’ But day after day, as I met others, the in¬ 
vitation was repeated. Sometimes nothing was said, at 
others my refusal was met by sneers. I passed the 
doors of places where I had formerly gone to drink, 
and I found myself saying, ‘ There can be no harm in 
going in,’ and each time I passed the temptation became 
stronger. One day I had half unconsciously turned and 
entered the door-way, but the sight of a drunken man 
inside turned me back. But from that time I knew I 
was not safe, and my mother’s advice was to enlist and 
come to you; and here I am.” 

Two years had passed. There had been no return to 
his old habits, and Markham was wearing the chevrons 
of a sergeant. The appalling disaster of the Little 
Horse had called his regiment, with others, to the far 
Northwest, where, for long and weary months, every 
officer and enlisted man was busy. At length, one cold 
autumn morning, the foe they had followed for days was 
brought to bay, and from the rocky fastness in which he 
had taken refuge was making a desperate fight. More 
than a score of his pursuers had already fallen, and any 
exposure was sure to drew a deadly fire, when the com¬ 
pany to which Markham belonged was ordered to seize 
and hold a more advanced position, and when it had 
been attained, the officer in command was to signal the 
fact to another, whose movement was then to commence. 
This would bring the first company almost up to the 
muzzles of the rifles of the enemy, and the movement had 
to be made with the utmost caution. The men crept for¬ 
ward, sheltered as much as possible by the inequalities of 
the ground, but to enable him to see when to give the 


DID IT PAY? 


157 


desired signal the officer was forced to rise to his feet. 
In a moment he dropped, shot through the body. 
Markham was near, and at once crawled up to him. 

Recognizing the desperate nature of his injury, he 
handed the sergeant his watch, diary, and other valu¬ 
ables, gasped out some directions for their disposal, and 
bade his protege farewell. 

“ But I’m going to get you away from here, sir; don’t 
give up yet.” 

“ No,” the wounded man gasped; “ you will be hit 
if you attempt it. I am done for; don’t have any one 
hurt trying to get me off.” 

But the brave fellow was obdurate. Tearing away the 
clothing, he sought to stanch the flow of blood, though 
every time he raised his head it became the target for 
leaden hail, meanwhile sending another soldier creeping 
to the rear for a blanket in which to bear away his charge. 
But when it was brought it could not be utilized as a 
litter without presenting a group as a target, and, rising 
to his knees, the sergeant drew it carefully under the 
body of his officer, and wrapping it about him took him 
in his arms as he would an infant, rose to his feet, and 
started to the rear. Bullets hissed and hummed about 
him, his clothing was penetrated in half a score of places, 
blood trickled from a wounded arm, but still he kept on, 
on till, in a depression where they were safe from fire, 
he found the surgeon with his improvised hospital. His 
own hurt proved not to be serious, though it forbade 
his return to the fight, and as soon as it was dressed he 
devoted himself to the care of his friend. With the 
night came a storm, almost arctic in its intensity. The 
last face recognized by the officer ere he lapsed into un- 

14 


158 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


consciousness, thought by every one to be the end, was 
that of the faithful Markham. Through all the long 
hours of storm and darkness the soldier had no shelter; 
his only blanket had been used to make one for his 
friend, dying, as he supposed, amid the raging of the 
elements, and when near noon of the next day, and to 
the surprise of every one, consciousness returned, his 
voice was the first to welcome him back to life, and his 
hand to minister to his wants. 

By courier to the nearest post, and thence on wings of 
the lightning, went news of the fight, with lists of killed 
and wounded. Back by the same medium came anxious 
inquiries; among others, from the sergeant’s family ask¬ 
ing not only about himself, but for the results of his 
officer’s wounds; and by the time the distant post was 
reached, letters for both, full of love for the one, and 
thankfulness for the escape of both from death, were 
there also. 

******* 

Years have come and gone. Among the hills of 
Northern New Jersey, embowered in vines and sur¬ 
rounded by acres devoted to small-fruit culture, stands 
Markham’s cottage home. His mother, spared long 
enough to again welcome her son, has passed away. 
The sister, whose love had never failed or faltered, lives 
not far away, absorbed in new cares. His head is pre¬ 
maturely gray, and his face shows traces of his early 
dissipation; but his eye is bright and clear, and his steps 
firm. Children climb about his knees and call for stories 
of his soldier-life. His wife knows all; for, as he told 
his former commander when he visited him, he thought 
he could not keep anything back from her and be happy. 


HOW RUFUS SHINGLEDECKER CAME TO GO TO SEA. 159 

f< The drink fiend” has departed; the prayers of parents 
and sister have been answered. 

The officer who thought it would pay to try to save 
him still lives; and others, though in a lesser degree, 
have cause to bless his care for their reformation. He 
who sneered at the idea of reforming a drunken soldier 
after an exhibition of both physical and moral cowardice 
at a crisis when much depended upon his capacity and 
firmness was set aside as of no value; and he who 
would “ not dry-nurse any drunken soldier” himself fills 
a drunkard’s grave. 

Did it pay ? 


HOW RUFUS SHINGLEDECKER CAME TO GO TO SEA* 

Peculiar characters have not been lacking in the varied 
personnel of our navy. Every officer can recall instances 
of “queer fish” that have come under personal observa¬ 
tion. Long Tom Coffin, whose actual personality Mr. 
Clark Russell seems to question, was not a whit more 
eccentric than many an old quarter-gunner or boat- 
swain’s-mate whose excellence in professional quality 
outweighed their erratic traits. 

Rufus Shingledecker, quartermaster on board the 
United States “ Fly-a-Way,” was one of these, a man who 
could be trusted in any sailor-like task, reliable, honest, 
and self-reliant, but with all as odd a bundle of inconsist¬ 
encies as could be imagined. To begin with, he was an 
unlikely object to be judged a sailor. He was tall, gaunt, 
and erect, without any of the shambling gait or awk- 



l6o BY LAND AND SEA. 

ward roll so popularly attributed to the seaman. Lan¬ 
tern-jawed, long-haired, and generally rustic in appear¬ 
ance, his face shone with good-natured humor and kind¬ 
liness within the fringe of gray whiskers that surrounded 
it. Without being a “ sailor-dandy,” he was scrupulously 
neat in his dress, his only deviation from a strictly nau¬ 
tical costume being a huge silver watch, of which outward 
evidences were a huge fob-chain and seal. 

His name was a perpetual source of annoyance to him. 
Had he been less honest he would have been known as 
“John Smith 5th,” or more equally handy title, usually 
chosen by sailors desiring to conceal their own identity. 
His name was too nearly “ Single-decker” to miss the 
witticisms current about decks; and the inevitable local 
rhymester had added a verse to a popular sea-song, 
dragging in this name and identifying it with Rufus. 
But these jibes never ruined his temper, and a certain 
dignity of manner kept away the smaller fry that might 
have made him ridiculous at times. 

Rufus was a popular man among the young officers. 
Without abating in any way the due amount of respect 
exacted by these, he managed in many ways to smooth 
the path of duty for them, and to assist to tide them over 
some perilous juncture. He would slip up quietly to 
the young watch-officer and modestly remark, as one 
who had just casually observed the circumstance, “ That 
to’gallant sail makes her pitch, sir; don’t it ?” or, “ Them 
royals makes her steer wild, sir!” or some similar infor¬ 
mation calculated to warn the young men of the neces¬ 
sity of reducing sail, which only a certain false profes¬ 
sional pride had kept him from doing. He would not 
shield a midshipman from discovery during a stolen nap 


HOW RUFUS SHINGLEDECKER CAME TO GO TO SEA *6l 

in a night-watch, but various kindly offices fully atoned 
for this venal offence. 

He was a sailor of the old school, whose maxim in 
navigation, the three “ L’s” (lead, log, and latitude), 
might be supplemented by another in seamanship, the 
three “ ITs” (haul, heave, and hurry). His usefulness in 
these piping times of peace, when warlike instruments 
are forged anew, would be extremely doubtful. Perfect 
in the old accomplishments, from the steering of the 
ship to the making of a cap, the new order of things 
perplexed him greatly. The dynamos were a continual 
menace ; he disapproved greatly of the new machine- 
moved guns ; predicted complete disaster to the ship 
which should venture into action without reserve sail- 
power; and doubted if the ram would not injure her own 
frame more than the enemy’s upon impact. 

These peculiarities of character were known to all the 
ship, but there was another point in which Rufus differed 
from the typical sailor that was not so readily noticeable. 
He evidently had no love for the female sex. This was 
made apparent in many ways to the close observer. He 
had been known on more than one occasion, when ladies 
were on board, to “ swap” watches, so as to remain away 
from the after-part of the ship, where alone females are 
permitted to congregate. If a boat came near with 
ribbons fluttering in it, he reported, “ Ladies in that boat 
sir,” and withdrew at once to the farthest reach of poop 
out of notice. 

Almost his only “ growl” was indulged in when it be¬ 
came necessary to “ dress” the ladders for lady visitors, and 
decorations for a party on boad, when he was expected 
to provide the flags, completely unsettled him for a day. 

I 14* 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


162 

Rufus was not given to confidences regarding himself, 
and I should have perhaps remained ignorant of the 
cause of all this perverse distaste for the female presence, 
so unusual to the sailor, had it not been that he over¬ 
heard some badinage among some of the officers about 
certain wounds supposed to have been received by me 
in an affaire du coeur. I had already encouraged him to 
chat occasionally, and was always entertained by the 
rugged honesty, quaintness, and soundness of many of 
his notions and ideas. One beautiful night, during a 
gentle “ midwatch,” he gave me the story of his life, 
which I here relate much in his own words. 

“ I’ve told you before, sir, that I was raised a farmer, 
in one of the Western States. I wasn’t like most of the 
neighbor-boys,—who hankered to get to the city, or go 
abroad, or somethin’ else than stay on the farm. I was 
well enough satisfied where I was, and grew up, calcu¬ 
latin’ to always stay a farmer. When I was goin’ on 
twenty-one, I fell in love with a neighbor’s darter, who 
was the likeliest girl in the hull country. I got to 
thinkin’ a great deal of her, an’ as I was (excuse me for 
sayin’ it myself) a rather good-lookin’ lad, and able to 
hold my own, it was plain sailin’ for a while with me, 
and Rosy Jenkins (which was a fitting name for her, 
since her cheeks were red as roses) promised to marry 
me soon as I had a home ready. I got to work, farmin’ 
a forty my father gave me, and finally rentin’ and then 
buyin’ forty more joinin’ it, and all the time workin’ for 
to get the home I wanted. Meanwhile, I only saw Rosy 
regularly on Sundays, which I spent at Mr. Jenkins’s, 
goin’ home from church with her, on the same spring- 
seat in the light wagon, besides maybe once or twice in 


HOW RUFUS SHINGLEDECKER CAME TO GO TO SEA. 163 

the week meetin’ her at a party, or in fair, or corn-husk¬ 
in’. She had other fellers, but I didn’t care much for 
that, although I didn’t feel so good as if I had been with 
her, but I had her promise, and had no thought of 
doubtin’ her. 

“ Things went on this way a couple of years, and I had 
paid for my new forty, and had money enough saved up 
to build a neat little house, when, one day, as I was 
drivin’ past her house, a certain neighbor woman, who 
knowed me from a boy, stopped me, and said, ‘ Ruf, you 
are the biggest fool ever lived. Rose Jenkins is nice as 
sugar when you’re around, but everybody but you in the 
hull township sees that she is mighty taken with that 
young photogry feller that comes around here in his 
car, stayin’ nobody knows what for, since he don’t take 
a picture once in a week. You had better take an old 
neighbor’s warnin’, and get the young woman soon as 
you can.’ 

“ I whipped up my horses, kinder mad at her presumin’ 
to say that Rosy was not true to me; but after a little I 
got to thinkin’ that perhaps what she said might be 
worth regardin’, anyway, though I didn’t believe she 
would play me false; and it made me sick to think of it. 
You see, sir, I’d got to thinkin’ a great deal of her, and 
it seemed as if I couldn’t bear to think of losin’ her. 
The young feller spoken of was one of those city fellers, 
a sort of lady’s man, that I had seen a few times, and 
once with Rosy. He weren’t the kind of feller you could 
quarrel with, for he was a little insignificant sort of cuss, 
and he was so perlite, and kept away from all the boys, 
who didn’t like him at all, to seek the company of the 
girls. After thinkin’ the matter over that night, I made 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


164 

up my mind to ask Rosy to marry me in three months, 
calculatin’ that I could get our little home ready by that 
time, with some help I knew I could get from my father. 

“Well, when I saw her, she just laughed at me for 
supposin’ there was anything wrong, and her winsome 
ways made me think she was in earnest, I was so fond 
of her. She said that she couldn’t be expected to keep 
out of company for so long a time, and when young men 
asked her to go to places, where she knew I couldn’t go, 
she was doin’ no harm in goin’ with them, so long as I 
didn’t suffer from it. After that, I hadn’t any thought 
of doubtin’ her, but worked the harder to get my home 
ready, for she said she would marry me when that was 
done. Meanwhile, I saw her more than before. Some¬ 
times she would come down with me, in my new buggy, 
and we would go inside the frame of the half-built house, 
and plan what happy times we would have when it was 
finished. She would say she must have this and that to 
furnish the rooms, and I would promise it. But I can’t 
talk much about that time, sir, for those were the happiest 
days I ever knew. Sometimes I couldn’t help hearin’ 
what people said about Rosy’s bein’ fond of company, 
and gayety, and so forth, but I thought that was nateral, 
and, so long as I had her promise, I needn’t worry much 
about it. The neighbor woman who had spoken to me 
before tried to stop me again, but I wouldn’t hear what 
she had to say, thinkin’ it only gossip. 

“ As the time passed by, I noticed some of my friends 
kinder lookin’ as though they wanted to tell me some¬ 
thin’, but I shut my eyes and ears to all of them, pre- 
ferrin’ to trust Rosy. She made me a little uneasy now, 
for she would pout and get vexed at the least little thing, 


HOW RUFUS SHINGLEDECKER CAME TO GO TO SEA. 165 

which she had never done before, and once or twice, 
when I wanted her to ride down to the farm for me, she 
said she couldn’t go, as she had too much sewin’ to do. 
I thought this was true, for it was now only two weeks 
to our weddin’-day, and she must be gettin’ ready. I 
didn’t know till long afterwards that she had already 
promised to go to town to a party. I didn’t like these 
kind o’ public parties they had at the hall in town, and 
she never told me she was goin’; but then I never asked 
her about them. I saw her nearly every day now, gen¬ 
erally about noon-spell, when I could take time to drive 
over to her father’s, and I must say now that she seemed 
less loving every day. It worried me a good deal, but I 
thought maybe it was a girl’s sort of bashfulness, you 
know, and maybe she was thinkin’ more of her weddin’ 
things than of me, as I had heard girls would do. 

“ Meanwhile everything was ready for us to be married 
the next week. My home was done, and I had furnished 
it as well as I could without gettin’ in debt, and Rosy 
had seen it and seemed satisfied with it, although not so 
delighted as I thought maybe she might be. We was 
to be married at her father’s, and to go to housekeepin’ 
right away; and there was to be an infare at my father’s 
house the next week. I thought now that I was almost 
settled in life, and that I would be content and happy 
with a wife of my choice, who I had loved so long. I 
was kept pretty busy about this time, and didn’t see 
Rosy, although I thought I saw her in a buggy and span 
with a young man, one evening about dusk,—knowin’ 
her by her red ribbons. I worked pretty late about my 
farm, and went home to father’s as usual every night. 
One night, about five days before the time set for our 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


166 

weddin’, I came home quite late, feelin’ tired and out 
of sorts, for many things had gone wrong, and I had 
got cheated out of goin’ to see Rosy, on account of a 
steer that had got mired in a slough. My mother was 
settin’ up waitin’ for me,—a thing very unusual. When 
she saw how tired I was she seemed to hesitate a while, 
but finally drew her chair up near mine, and said,— 

“ ‘ Rufus, you never knew much about young girls and 
their ways, and I have hoped and thought that you were 
going to get one you could trust, and who would make 
you a happy wife; but I am afraid, my boy, you are 
going to be disappointed. Now don’t stop me, for I 
must tell you some things I have seen and heard, and 
what I think about them. Rosa is not acting well. She 
should be devoting her time to you and your welfare, 
but she is gayer and more frivolous each day, and seems 
to be possessed with an idea that she must gad about 
everywhere now, as if she would be tied down at home 
after you are married. I would speak to her about it, 
my son.’ 

“ My mother went out as she said this, leaving me to 
think about it. What worried me most was that my 
mother was not a talkative woman nor a gossip, and, on 
account of having gone to boarding-school, felt herself 
a little above some of the farmers’ wives in the neighbor¬ 
hood, and didn’t visit them much. I knew she would 
never have said this to me, if some one or more than one 
had not come to her and told her things. I didn’t think 
that she might mean to warn me of somethin’ more, and 
I don’t know yet as she did. Well, I went to see Rosy 
at noon the next day, and the first thing I saw when I 
came in sight of the house was that little, insignificant 


HOW RUFUS SHINGLEDECKER CAME TO GO TO SEA. 167 

photograph man I had been warned of. Rosy seemed 
kind of flustered, but was in great spirits, and more like 
her old self than she had been for a long time. She said 
she was going to have her last girl picture taken, and 
that was what she was Axin’ with the young man. I 
asked her if the regular artist in town couldn’t as well 
take her picture, but she said no, he always made a 
fright of her. I didn’t want to quarrel, so I said no more 
then, but before I went away, I asked her if she was still 
ready to marry me in three days. She made many pretty 
little motions and flutterings, but finally made me happy 
by saying, ‘ Yes, of course, you old goose; what else?’ 
I went away clean forgetting to ask her if she wouldn’t 
stay away from parties now till we married. I was too 
happy in believin’ her true, to question her, or to doubt 
her in any way. Hadn’t I known her all my life! and 
didn’t I believe that she was a good, faithful, honest girl, 
a little giddy now, but fond enough of me to be happy 
after we were once married ? 

“ Well, the time passed, and my weddin’-day came at 
last. I went to town in the mornin’, early enough to 
miss any of the boys who would be sure to plague me, 
and got my new clothes and a clean shave. I got home 
about noon, and was drivin’ around to father’s barn to put 
up my team of colts, when my father called to me, 
‘Don’t put ’em up yet, your mother wants to see you 
right away!’ My heart sunk at once, and I rushed into 
the house without even tying my team. Mother was 
lyin’ on the sofa, crying as if her heart would break. I 
knelt down by her, fearful of bad news, and so soon as 
she could, she told me, betwixt her sobs, that Rosy had 
run off that mornin’ with the young photographer, and 


i68 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


that they had gone to a town some miles away, it was 
thought, to get married. Mr. Jenkins had gone after 
them, but his farm team would never overtake them. I 
rushed out at once, jumped into the buggy, only hearing 
my father’s, ‘ Be cautious, my boy!’ and drove at the 

top of my speed towards the town of A-. My mind 

was all in a whirl, and I drove like mad, nearly running 
into some teams, my wild young colts flying over the 
dusty road. I don’t know what I should have done if 
I had overtaken them. Bad thoughts for him were in 
my heart, and some not kindly for her. 

“ But just before I reached A-I met Mr. Jenkins, 

and stopped at sight of his haggard old face. I had 
always been a favorite of his’n, and he cursed and swore 
terribly about the damned cuss who had run off with his 
little gal, but told me it was maybe not too late yet for 
me to save her from him, and he would advise me to 
drive right on to her aunt’s, where she had gone, to wait 
a few days before marrying the unprincipled cuss she 
had run off with. Mr. Jenkins said he couldn’t coax her 
to come back, but he thought she would listen to me. So 
I drove on, half-hearted, to undertake the job. I felt, 
even now, that she was false, and didn’t much believe 
that she would listen to me. 

“ Well, the aunt tried to keep me from seeing her, but 
I wouldn’t be put off, and made my way into the settin’- 
room, where she was, crying as though her heart would 
break. I broke down at this, and cried a little, too, 
perhaps, for I never could stand her sobs and tears,, 
even when she was a little girl. Well, I talked to her, 
not about our weddin’, nor about our home, nor my 
disappointment, but just pointed out to her that she was 




HOW RUFUS SHINGLEDECKER CAME TO GO TO SEA. 169 

doin’ wrong, and ought to go back to her mother, and 
wait there, and then I said, * Rosy, I thought I could 
never part with you, but if you think you love any other 
man better than me, it is better to know it now than 
some other time. You can have time to think it over, 
and, if you decide against me, I will give you up.’ I 
turned away and left the house, not being able to say 
any more. She called her aunty, and, just as I was 
about to drive away, they came out, asked me to wait, 
and then Rosy got into my buggy and went back home 
with me. It was a sorrowin’ trip. She did nothin’ but 
sob and cry, huddled up in one corner of the buggy, 
and begged me not to talk to her. 

“ Well, it was over at last, and I left her at her father’s 
home, and went home, gettin’ there just about the time 
I was to have been married. The neighbors had all 
been told the weddin’ was postponed, and so I found my 
mother and father alone at home. Both tried to cheer 
me up, but mother was indignant that I had given Rosy 
a day to make up her mind. ‘ Hasn’t she had all these 
years to do it in ?’ she said. But I wouldn’t hear any¬ 
thing against her, preferring to wait, although sick at 
heart myself. 

“ Well, the third day come, but no Rosy. Her mother 
came over, and said she had had a letter from the young 
man, promisin’ to come and get her, and that no more 
could be got out of Rosy than that she should wait for 
him. I giv’ up entirely on hearin’ this, and went down 
to my place. I sat down in the home, and thought 
things over. My heart was very sore, but I wasn’t mad 
at Rosy; just pity in’ like, and makin’ allowance for her. 
I always knowed she liked parties and gayety, and this 
h 15 


170 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


was what had led her to choose the other man, who 
could take her to such places. But I had loved her so 
long, and had been so long thinkin’ that she was mine, 
that it was hard to give her up. By-and-by, I began to 
get harder about it, and to think that I had been treated 
badly. I got sore against Rosy, thinkin' about it, and 
against all women, for I thought them all alike now. A 
promise was a promise, anyhow, and Rosy had seemed 
to care little for hers when the time came. A man 
would even carry out a bad bargain, and I was just that 
much disappointed that I would have taken her, even 
knowin’ that she didn’t think so much of me. 

“ But now it was all over, and what was I to do ? I 
had worked to get my house and farm for her, and now 
I hated it. I couldn’t stay there, and have folks pityin’ 
me, and as I thought more and more of how badly 
Rosy had acted, I got harder and harder against her 
and all women. I just thought I would like to go away 
where no one knowed me, and as I resolved on this, I 
said to myself, Why not where there are no women? 
The more I thought on it, the better it seemed, so mad 
was I at the whole sex. 

“ I thought about those fellows I had read about, who 
went into the deserts or forests and lived as hermits, and 
thought at first that I would go away into the far West, 
where there was none of the female sex, but I bethought 
me that they would come there in the course of time, 
and besides, I didn’t care to live among such rough men 
just to get away from women. I thought I might go to 
some foreign country where I wouldn’t know the lan¬ 
guage, but then I remembered that wouldn’t long matter. 
I would learn it, and, besides, the women would be 


HOW RUFUS SHINGLEDECKER CAME TO GO TO SEA. iyi 

there all the same, and maybe wouldn’t need the lan¬ 
guage. 

“ Finally, I made up my mind to go to sea, where one 
needn’t see women at all, and where they would never 
come. After I had made up my mind to this, I got to 
thinkin’ again, and my heart felt very sore against Rosy, 
when, all of a sudden, she came in at the door, her eyes 
all red (and her cheeks redder than ever) with crying, 
her shoes all dusty, and her dress not so neat as usual. 

I j ust sat still, not knowin’ what to say or do. She came up 
kind o’ timid to me, and said, kinder sobbin’-like and 
very softly, 4 Rufus, I will marry you !’ I asked her to 
sit down and get composed, and when she had done so, 

I said, ‘ Rosy, you know, after all that has past, we 
would never be happy; maybe it was a mistake, after all. 
I won’t hold you to your word, and will go away where 
you will never see me again.’ She burst out sobbin’ as 
if her heart would break, and declared she would try to 
make me a good wife, but I would not hear of it. Well, 
after a long talk and a walk to her home, I told her 
parents my decision, and they seemed to think I had 
good reason for it, but I said they mustn’t blame Rosy, 
for maybe we weren’t so well suited as we thought. 

“ Well, I sold my things, and paid my old father what 
I owed him, and started from home with the rest. My 
mother tried to keep me, and it was hard to leave her, 
but finally I got away. I went straight to town, and put 
all my money in the bank, exceptin’ enough to take me 
to New York, and a little more. Then I went to a law¬ 
yer that I had known a long time, and asked him to 
draw up a will, leavin’ all this money to Rosy, in case 
she didn’t get married within five years, which he did. 


172 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


You see, I suspicioned the mean feller wouldn’t marry 
her now, and the young folks in the neighborhood would 
avoid her for awhile, and I didn’t want the money, which 
I intended always for her comfort. 

“I came to New York, and was lucky enough to get 
into the navy instead of the merchant service, and here 
I am, sir, grown old in it. I have heard from home two 
or three times since I left it. Rosy didn’t marry right 
away; she got the money I left her, but I heerd some 
years afterwards that a rich farmer had married her. I 
hope she did well, sir, for I think she was a good girl.” 

The end of the watch came just at the termination of 
the honest man’s story, and we both were soon below in 
our beds. For my part, I lay thinking what a curious 
character Rufus showed, too honest and straightforward, 
with his overstrained ideas of right and wrong. I 
respected the old fellow for his kind treatment of the 
recreant lass, while I blamed him for his Quixotic de¬ 
cision. His was one of these natures that make an¬ 
chorites and such like folk, and his better choice of some 
useful profession was to his credit. 

Some weeks passed, and we changed our berth to the 
anchorage off “ Old Point Comfort,” where the occa¬ 
sional dissipation and gayety afforded by the parties at 
the Hygeia Hotel and at the fort greatly relieved the 
monotony of our ship routine. 

Old Rufus shut himself up closer than ever here, but 
was compelled occasionally to take a watch when ladies 
were on board. What he did when he went ashore, no 
one seemed to know. He never joined the drinkers, 
and usually separated from the party who attended him, 
strolling off into the country by himself. 


HOW RUFUS SHINGLEDECKER CAME TO GO TO SEA. 173 

One afternoon, towards the end of the watch, when 
Rufus and I were again associated on duty, a small 
.yacht came alongside, and permission was asked for the 
occupants to visit the ship, which was readily accorded. 
There were perhaps a dozen in the party, whom I recog¬ 
nized as some Western people who had been pointed 
out to me at the hotel. One couple was particularly 
noticeable. The husband was a weazened little fellow, 
evidently ill at ease in his mock sailor clothes (he owned 
the yacht I afterwards heard). The woman was tall and 
stout, and had evidently been rather pretty at one time, 
but there was a petulant, querulous expression on her 
face that would have spoiled a much younger and hand¬ 
somer face. She was evidently the master or rather the 
mistress, and ruled with a strong hand. She had no 
confidence in her husband’s sailor qualities, for she 
would allow no one but an officer to hand her out of the 
boat and on deck. Such duty having fallen to my lot, 
I proceeded to walk the lady up and down the deck, ex¬ 
plaining that I could not go below, being on duty. 

“ And is that queer fellow yonder on watch, too,” said 
she, in the harshest of tones, pointing to old Rufus, who 
had, as usual, retired to the poop-deck. Something in 
her voice caused the old man to look around, when, 
greatly to my astonishment, he dropped the long spy¬ 
glass, of which he usually took the greatest care, turned 
hastily around and walked forward as far as the main¬ 
mast, to the utter neglect of duty usually performed with 
the greatest zeal. I suspected at once that he had re¬ 
cognized the lady as some acquaintance of his boyhood 
and feared recognition on her part. 

The party soon went below deck, and old Rufus then 

15* 


1 74 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


approached me, his face ashy pale, and said, “ It’s her, 
sir; it’s Rosy herself.” I was moved at the old fellow’s 
evident disturbance, sent for another quartermaster, and 
had Rufus relieved from duty. Contrary to his usual 
custom, he hung about the gangway, and when the 
shore-party, after a visit of an hour or so, departed, he 
watched them stealthily from a concealed point. The 
lady evidently had no thought of his identity, nor did 
her conduct, as she quitted the ship, leave any pleasant 
remembrance in the mind of her quondam lover. She 
was exceedingly snappish and virulent towards her liege 
lord, and it required much masculine urging and femi¬ 
nine pleading to induce her to set foot again on the little 
yacht, which she declared she detested. It was quite 
evident that the temper as well as the face of the little 
rosy-cheeked country-maiden had considerably aged. 
The yacht pushed off, drifted astern, and passed close 
under our stern, watched by a crowd of our midshipmen, 
who had discovered some attractive Western beauties 
among the number. As she drifted around our stern, a 
sudden flow of wind caught the mainsail, the boom jibbed 
about, and instantly half a dozen forms of men and wo¬ 
men were in the water. A scene of confusion occurred, 
during which it was hard to say what did really take 
place, but I distinctly heard, and so did old Rufus, the 
sharp tones of the mature Rosy, crying out, as she sank 
under the counter of the yacht, “ Rufus, Rufus, save me !” 
The whole party was rescued in five minutes, and all 
were ashore and dry in less than half an hour, but the 
yacht and its owner disappeared during the night, and I 
never knew whether his name, too, was Rufus, or whether 
the recreant heart of the country lass returned in the 


THE OLD ‘‘ACADEMIC.’ 


175 


moment of danger to its old lover, whose identity could 
not be concealed from her sharp eyes, although she 
would not acknowledge it. As to Rufus, he seemed 
much more content with life; was not quite so distrust¬ 
ful of the female sex, and was even known to entertain 
some of tender years in a surreptitious way. 


THE OLD “ACADEMIC.” 

“ ‘ The moon looks down on old Cro* nest, 

She mellows the shade on his shaggy breast, 

And seems-’ ” 

“Yes, old fellow, that’s true, there’s the moon and 
Cro’ nest and the * silver cone on the wave below,’ but 
isn’t that aforesaid quotation just a little hackneyed? 
Remember, my dear Archer, the occasions, not few, on 
which you must have gotten it off yourself, in such a 
night as this,—forgive me, do, and imagine, if you can, 
the thousands of times it has been gotten off by callow 
youths and tender maidens from this very piazza. Jove! 
just think, mathematically computed-” 

“That will do, Mac; I’m nipped in the bud and will 
offend no more, even if the moon, shimmering on the 
water yonder, lighten all the hidden poetry within my 
soul,” was the laughing answer. 

The piazza alluded to was that surrounding the old 
Post Hotel at West Point; the two friends leaning 
against the railing, brother officers and classmates of 
some half-dozen years back. They had been chums 




BY LAND AND SEA. 


176 

through their four years of cadet-life, and the friendship 
was a close one. A guitar was heard from a group at 
the farther end of the piazza, disconnected chords, and 
a subdued humming. 

“You are evidently wanted there, Jack,” said Mc¬ 
Laren ; “ they know that will fetch you.” 

“ Well, we’ll wait and see,” said Archer, laughing, and 
the next moment his name was called. 

“ That’s the penalty one pays for being popular,” mur¬ 
mured McLaren, pulling at his dark moustache, but fol¬ 
lowing his friend not unwillingly, for to hear John 
Archer sing was compensation for being deprived of his 
undistributed self. 

McLaren, or Mac, as he was called by his intimates, 
had been at the Point on duty for four years, and surely 
no young, good-looking, unmarried second lieutenant 
could be more popular, and he knew it too. 

John Archer, on furlough, was spending a few of his 
precious days with officer friends, and Damon and 
Pythias were again together. Archer possessed most of 
the qualities which attract both men and women. He 
was not a hero to be worshipped, nor an Apollo to 
languish over, though he was manly as a soldier should 
be and undeniably handsome. Then, too, he had a 
charm of speech and manner which were as natural to 
him as the Southern air he had breathed in his boyhood. 
Just now, the first of July, when the number of officers 
was small, his presence was hailed with joy. The mess, 
of course, had to be broken up and the bachelor officers 
went to the hotel for their meals, except when they 
found favor and hospitality with the ladies at the Post. 
The June tide of visitors that floods the Point during 


THE OLD “ACADEMIC . 1 


1 77 


graduation week had ebbed and the second influx had 
not yet come. In the meantime, however, the hotel was 
not empty; the cadet season had begun. 

“ Now then, Archer, you can’t refuse us on such a 
glorious night?” This from the group the two men 
had joined. 

“ Nor will I, Captain Anderson,” readily replied Archer, 
accepting the guitar from his superior officer. “ Mac 
here won’t let me quote poetry, so I’m willing to take 
my revenge.” 

“And charm his ears and ours,” returned Captain 
Anderson. 

“ And fairer ones, too, perhaps, eh, Morton ?” added a 
tall cavalryman, throwing away his cigar and settling 
himself comfortably. 

The young fellow thus addressed, a new graduate, 
laughed good-naturedly. “ Oh, my star reached its 
zenith last camp and set some two weeks back.” 

“ I fear Miss Lawrence is fickle,” put in McLaren. 
“What’s the matter, John?” to Archer, who in tuning 
the guitar had snapped a string. “ Strings feel the heat ?” 

“ Pray, who may this divinity be ?” asked Archer, 
lightly, disregarding the question. 

“ Last summer,” continued McLaren, “ Norton would 
have told you that Miss Lawrence was the most charm¬ 
ing girl, the prettiest dancer, and the belle par excellence 
of the Post. Ah me! we’ve all been through first class 
camp.” 

“ And I still say the same,” answered Norton. “ The 
fact that I’ve doffed the cadet-gray with the buttons’ 
flashing gleam detracts in no way from Miss Lawrence’s 
powers of fascination. But she is emphatically a * cadet 


m 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


178 

girl/ and I now have donned the army-blue, so farewell 
to my greatness. At the present moment Miss Lawrence 
is leaning on a gray arm. They started for camp some 
time ago.” And now the guitar was tuned, and after a 
short prelude Archer began. Song after song he sang t 
sweet melodies of the South, gay airs with a chorus in 
which the others joined, till finally he dropped into the 
dainty German lieder which he loved and sang the best. 

A woman of the world twice his years had once said 
to Archer, coming forward with outstretched hands as 
he finished a song sweeter than all others, “ Ah, if I were 
twenty!” And indeed the young man had sung his way 
into the hearts of many and left there strains of music 
which seemed to have been awakened to echo forever. 
He was an artist in his way, and his songs were a part 
of him. 

There was no one else on the piazza except two ladies 
who had come out a little while ago and sat in the farther 
corner. They seemed to be strangers and were very 
quiet, evidently listening with musical appreciation, as 
who could help it who had a soul! One of them, all in 
white, sat slightly turned from the group and partly in 
shadow, but two or three times she looked carelessly 
over her shoulder with a graceful turn of the head, and 
those who caught the motion saw in the full moonlight 
that the face was young and lovely. 

“ A new arrival,” thought McLaren, and with his cap 
tipped down he watched. By degrees an idea formed in 
his mind, took root, and, as the girl turned again, 
blossomed into full conviction. He glanced at xArcher, 
who appeared to have forgotten every presence, and who, 
with his head thrown slightly back and his gaze fastened 


THE OLD "ACADEMIC” 1 79 

on the silver-misted hills, seemed to be weaving into 
melody the beauty of the night. 

His brown eyes shown darker still in the moonlight, 
and his fair hair, pushed back with his cap, gave him his 
boyish look of a few years ago. A half-sad expression 
stole over his face, and, changing his accompaniment to 
a rhythmic ripple, he sang very softly a song unsung for 
years, a little German lied of love and parting. His voice 
lingered caressingly on the refrain, “ Liebchen, ade, 
scheiden thut weh.” As the last note fainted on the air 
there was a slight rustle at the end of the piazza, and the 
girl in white flitted quickly round the house, followed 
more slowly by her companion. McLaren noticed the 
departure, quiet as it was, and felt surer than ever of his 
first-received impression. And now Archer rose, and all 
knew there would be no more music. 

“ You have given us great pleasure, Archer,” said 
Captain Anderson, heartily. “ I for one shall not soon 
forget this evening; it is one to be remembered.” 

“ And I,” returned the young man, “ shall certainly 
never forget it if I have given you so great pleasure.” 
And he never did. 

“ Jack, old man,” said McLaren, “ it’s not late, and I 
have a call to make at the south end of quarters. Come 
along and I’ll introduce you to the jolliest little woman 
in the Post.” 

“ And her fair guest,” ventured Norton. 

Archer agreed to the proposition ; the two friends said 
good-night. They took their way across the grassy 
plain, fresh and smooth and velvety as it always is, Archer 
carrying his guitar, now encased in green flannel, and 
which he was to leave at their quarters on the way. He 


i8o 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


loved this instrument; it had been his mother’s, who 
gave it to him when he left home to report at West Point. 
Many were the hours it had cheered him in barracks 
when “ Math.” and “ Phil.” did not press too heavily, or 
on summer nights in camp, with the fellows gathered 
round him. 

“ That’s a lovable fellow,” said Mr. Ormsby, the tall 
cavalryman, as the two officers left. 

“ You mean Archer ?” said Captain Anderson. “ Yes, 
that’s the word ; he’s lovable and he’s a fine fellow too. 
I’ve always known the family : lovely woman, his mother, 
and his father is a true type of the Southern gentleman.” 

“ He’s evidently a favorite with the ladies,” went on 
Norton, “judging from the look of things last evening.” 

“ Oh,” said Captain Anderson, with a laugh, “ that’s 
the natural consequence of the boy’s devotion of manner 
to every woman he meets, whether she’s young or not. 
Any one who didn’t know him might accuse him of being 
in love with half a dozen different girls at a time. It’s 
his way, and a charming one it is too. But for all that,” 
continued the captain, “ he’s a fine fellow, and as true as 
steel. Lucky the girl who wins him.” 

“ I thought he was engaged,” said Mr. Ormsby. 

“ There was something of the kind,” answered Captain 
Anderson. “ Seems to me I heard,—well, the fact is, I 
don’t know much about it.” 

Then the talk {jpll on other things. 

“ The old building is really going,” said Norton; 
“ they’ve done quite some work in demolishing.” 

“ It’s really been unfit for some time,” said Captain 
Anderson ; “ yet, ugly and prosaic as it is, I almost feel 
sorry to see it go. Many associations will go with it. 


THE OLD “ ACADEMIC.’ 


181 


But it has served a full half-century. May the new 
Academic educate as many heroes within its walls as this 
old one has done !” 


I. 

Across the plain the two friends were walking in silence. 
The spirit of quiet seemed to have fallen upon them, but 
these two knew each other so well that speech was not 
always necessary, each following out the other’s train of 
thought with the aid of a spoken word now and again. 
McLaren knew what was coming and waited. Finally 
Archer said,— 

“ This Miss Lawrence they were speaking of, Mac, is 
it-” 

“ No, old fellow, she is not the same, nor, so far as I 
know, is she any relation. Miss Kitty was here for the 
first time a year ago, and victimized Norton last camp.” 

Archer drew a long breath. “ I thought it possible, 
you know. She was very young then, and there was 
nothing so unlikely in it.” 

“ No, of course not.” Then, after a pause, “ What was 
the trouble between you, Jack? I never understood 
what separated you.” 

“ And I do not now, Mac, after six years. I only know 
that something came between us,—a cloud that shut out 
daylight for many long days.” 

" But could she give no reason for this ? It seems 
strange, she was so devoted to you.” 

“I know nothing of what caused the change; surely 
she loved me. Her letters stopped all at once. I wrote 
again and again, imploring for some explanation; not a 
line came. I’ve never seen her since.” 

16 


182 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


Archer’s voice grew husky; the feelings lulled into 
quiet through these years had been awakened to-night. 
The mere mention of a name, to him inseparably con¬ 
nected with this place, had laid bare a train of memories 
that brought the past with painful distinctness before him. 

“ Did you try to see her ?” asked Mac. 

“Yes, I got a short leave; she was away from home. 
Soon after, I received her engagement ring and a line ask¬ 
ing for the key to the bracelet I had locked on her arm.” 

“ It seems unaccountable to me,” said McLaren. u Of 
course, engagements are made and broken every day, but 
it was unlike her to change so utterly without giving the 
shadow of an explanation. Who knows ? it may come 
all right yet.” 

“ After all these years ? No, Mac; I hope she has 
forgotten me, as I have tried to forget her.” 

“ But she has not forgotten,” thought McLaren ; “ she 
certainly recognized him a while ago. Why did she 
leave so suddenly after that song ? Was it annoyance, 
or does she care ? I’ll not tell him to-night. I had no 
idea he felt it so much after all this.” 

“ I’ll call here some other time, Mac; I’ll not go in 
with you now,” said Archer, as they reached the Reese’s 
gate. 

“ All right, my boy, take possession of the fort; I’ll 
join you before long.” 

The Reese’s was a popular house, and McLaren was a 
special favorite with little Mrs. Reese. But just now the 
attraction was the “ fair guest” hinted at by Norton, which 
fact Mac had made rather evident, thereby causing Mrs. 
Reese immense satisfaction. 

This evening, Miss Ruth Girton, looking her prettiest, 


THE OLD “ ACADEMIC.” 183 

was quite in the mood to receive as her just due full 
measure of devotion from the dashing cavalryman. But 
there seemed to be something the matter; he had never 
been so indifferent, and, finally, in the midst of a most 
thrilling story, Miss Girton stopped suddenly and ex¬ 
claimed, “You don’t look one bit interested and haven’t 
heard one word! I’m going to talk to Mr. Lester.” 
And in spite of McLaren’s earnest entreaties, the girl, 
from mere pique, beamed upon the tiresome but delighted 
Lester the rest of the evening. 

Then Mrs. Reese came to the rescue: “ I’m going to 
scold you; your friend has been here three days and 
you’ve not brought him here yet.” 

“Oh, come now, Mrs. Reese, three days! Jack got 
here late Tuesday evening.” 

“ And this is Thursday; but we won’t quarrel. What 
I want to say is this. I’m going to have some people 
here to-morrow evening; you’ll find a note from me 
when you get back. Be sure to come and bring Mr. 
Archer.” 

“ I answer for both of us.” 

“ Kitty Lawrence has consented to forego cadets for 
one evening, so she’s coming; and she’s promised me a 
charming addition in her cousin.” 

“ Her cousin !” 

“ Yes, she only arrived this evening; so you don’t 
know her, nor do I. But I’m going to call to-morrow 
morning. Kitty says she’s musical and plays superbly.” 

“What’s her name?” asked McLaren, through whose 
mind was flashing the light of possibilities. 

“ Lawrence,—Margaret Lawrence.” 

McLaren was a quick thinker; his course was decided 


184 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


upon. They were at the end of the room, apart from 
the others. 

“ Mrs. Reese,” he said, abruptly, “ you are a true 
friend, aren’t you ?” 

“ I hope so,” answered the little woman, somewhat 
puzzled. 

“ And you are interested in love-affairs, and all that 
sort of thing, aren’t you ?” he went on, earnestly. 

Mrs. Reese thought she understood, and glanced at 
Ruth in the bay-window, and then sympathetically at 
her favorite. 

“ Of course, my dear fellow, you may trust me.” 

“ It’s not a case of‘John Alden,’ but of John Archer, 
and the thing is rather reversed, do you see ?” 

“ Perfectly,” she nodded, though she didn’t in the 
least. 

Well, this is my idea, if you will help me. Promise 
me your allegiance, and, above all, secrecy.” And they 
talked for some time. 

“ That’s perfect,” cried Mrs. Reese. “ What a schemer 
you are ! I’ll call the first thing in the morning, and if 
she accepts I’ll send you a line. Oh, of course, I shall 
carelessly mention Mr. Archer’s name, with two or three 
others.” 

“ And I shall take care,” said McLaren, “ that John 
knows nothing till just as he’s coming.” 

“ Don’t come too awfully early, for she should be here 
first.” 

“ And of course,” put in Mac, “ there will have to be 
an introduction, which you will make.” 

“ Oh, trust me,” answered Mrs. Reese; “ I’m interested 
in the continuation of the romance.” 


THE OLD “ ACADEMIC.” 


I8 5 


II. 

We are glad at times to be free from our dearest 
friend, however strong the bond between us. There is a 
wish to escape from another self, a fellow-creature too 
closely identified with our own personality. 

Archer felt this as he mechanically walked on in the 
same direction. When he reached the guard-gate, which 
in former times had meant to him, “ Thus far shalt thou go 
and no farther,” he turned, as in his cadet days, so strong 
is the force of habit, and wandered back towards the 
plain. 

Archer had had sweethearts many in his Southern 
home during his early days of boyish romance. But 
this was different. His love for Margaret Lawrence had 
come with his manhood and grown into it. Time had 
dulled the keen edge of his pain and made it bearable, 
but the wound had been deep, and it still quivered when 
touched. “ It belongs to by-gone days,” he thought, 
resolutely pulling himself together, “ and there it shall 
rest.” But to-night it would not rest; the familiar 
moonlighted scene appealed too strongly to his senti¬ 
ment and imagination, and soon he was drifting back 
upon the tide of memory. He had nearly reached the 
corner where stood the brown, square pile of the old 
“Academic.” The work of tearing down had begun, 
for government had generously recognized the long-felt 
need of its great school, and from the ruins of the old 
building, which had served its time like a faithful soldier, 
was to rise a new Academic. 

If there be a place in the world where all things are 
done with system and order, it is at West Point; but 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


186 

that day, whether by accident or design is not known, a 
ladder had been left standing at the side right against 
the iron balustrade. A fancy seized Archer, a desire to 
stand once again within these walls, and in another 
moment he had lightly climbed the ladder and stood on 
the stone balcony. The doors were closed, but not 
locked. He pushed one open and walked into the hall, 
letting in streams of moonlight that threw into deeper 
shadow the corridor beyond. His footfalls sounded 
strangely loud to him in the utter stillness of the place; 
a sudden feeling of intense loneliness came over him ; 
he had never before been alone in this building. He 
went back and leaned against one of the granite pillars, 
resting his guitar against the railing. To the right he 
could see the river, gleaming like a broad band of silver 
at the foot of the encircling hills. Two or three sail¬ 
boats were slipping lazily along, like great white birds 
wing-weary. To the left was camp, its rows of tents 
showing snowily through the foliage. All was still; the 
music had stopped; now and again the measured tread 
of the sentinel down the road could be faintly heard; 
then soon came three slow beats of the drum, “ taps,” in 
camp. 

“All this hath been before,” thought Archer, some 
favorite lines recurring to him, and his desolate feeling 
left him. Either this hour was the realization of a dream 
or the reflex action of moments lived before; but it was 
strangely natural, and he waited in a state of passivity 
for an indefinite, shadowy something. 

The time, whether long or short, had been as nothing, 
when he became conscious of a regular, rhythmic vibra¬ 
tion growing each moment till it strengthened into 


THE OLD “ACADEMIC. 1 


18 ; 


sound. Nearer it came and louder, till there was no 
mistaking the tramp of many feet steadily coming up 
the stone steps. A moment after several cadets crossed 
the end of the balcony, and, at the clear, ringing com¬ 
mand of the leader, marched by twos through the door¬ 
way into the hall Irresistibly impelled, Archer, too, 
obeyed the order, hastening after the gray-coated figures, 
with all the alertness of a cadet fearing a “ late.” 

“ Sir, all are present or accounted for,” and the section, 
ten in number, took their seats, Archer finding himself 
at the end of a long bench. As the instructor called 
different cadets to the black-board, Archer discovered 
that he was not among classmates or friends; they were 
strangers. Yet, as he now earnestly scanned each face, 
he thought he had seen some of them before, but as he 
pursued the idea it vanished even as he touched it. 
Then he saw on the board, designating each one’s work, 
names glorious in their country’s history. As he gazed 
spell-bound, the writing on the board grew fainter till it 
faded utterly, and the figures where they stood and sat 
became indistinct and then dissolved like a mist. 

The room changed, a screen stood before the open 
door, and all around were cadet-caps, white gloves, and 
narrow strips of starched linen cadets called collars. Out 
in the corridor was the sound of many people walking, 
talking, and laughing, and from beyond came strains of 
lively dance-music mingling with the gay voices of cadets 
and merry girls. Archer walked down the long corridor 
to the dancing-room known as number one. Making 
his way through the row of cadets that were two or 
three deep about the door, he, too, stood and looked on 
at the bright scene. The string-band was playing a 


188 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


delicious waltz of Waldteufel; and all were dancing as 
people dance nowhere but at West Point, with an ease 
and enjoyment delightful to see. There was Smith, J. T., 
fairly skimming over the polished floor, and Williams 
over 'there looking the embodiment of happiness, with 
that pretty Miss Miles. Brooks, too, has at last got the 
step, thanks to little Miss Harper, who has labored long 
and patiently with him. It’s a large, fully-attended hop; 
the “ Supe” is here an imposing figure in the group of 
smiling chaperons. But look ! who is this ? And Archer 
bent eagerly forward to watch a couple who at that 
moment stopped dancing and were lost in the crowd 
pushing out into the hall. Quickly he brushed past, 
reaching the space near the balcony before any one, and 
waited. Breathlessly he watched, feeling he knew not 
what. His eyes were riveted on a tall, fair cadet on 
whose arm leaned a young, lovely girl. They went out 
on the balcony where many other couples had strayed, 
and Archer followed closely after them. Soon they were 
the only ones left, and their voices, though low, were 
distinct in the stillness of the place. The girl was a 
little above medium height, slender, and gracefully 
moulded. She was perhaps not beautiful, but her face 
had a delicate, flower-like loveliness. She was in white, 
her brown waving hair was coiled low, and just now, 
with her head slightly bent and a tender, rapt expression 
on her sweet face, she looked in the silvery moonlight 
like a picture of St. Cecilia, only here there was no 
sorrow. The cadet at her side was evidently her lover, 
and Archer, with a strange feeling, knew that he was 
looking upon himself and Margaret Lawrence. He 
stretched out his arms and tried to speak, but could not; 


THE OLD “ACADEMIC. 1 


189 

“ Margaret” only came in a whisper, but the forms had 
vanished and he was alone. A great desolation came 
over him ; he felt weary and ill, and grasped the iron 
railing to keep himself from sinking. 

Suddenly a faint but exquisitely sweet sound of music 
seemed to float about him. The air was filled with it; 
it was everywhere, but so vague; it was more like a suc¬ 
cession of aeolian wails than any distinct melody. The 
young man’s music-loving soul was spell-bound, for the 
eerie music came to him like a message of comfort 
breathing promise and hope. Then the sound increased, 
gathering new voices each moment, till it swelled into a 
great chorus, now mournful like the sad strains of an 
elegy, now rising grand and majestic, like the battle- 
hymn of heroes. There were no words, but it seemed 
to say, “ All must change and pass away,—our spirits 
can linger here no longer, but we go to our rest.” 

Then all sank into silence, but Archer still stood mo¬ 
tionless. At length a sharp, ringing sound, succeeded 
by a peculiar resonance different from anything that had 
gone before, roused him into action. His guitar had 
fallen. He sprang to pick it up, held it with loving care, 
and then, quickly as he had come, left the balcony. 

III. 

McLaren had been right; the girl in white was Mar¬ 
garet Lawrence. On leaving the piazza she went to her 
room, but had no time to muse, for she was immediately 
followed by a bright pretty girl, who came in with a little 
breezy air. 

“ Such a delicious time ! It was lovely in camp; you 
ought to have gone, Margaret. But I believe you rather 


190 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


turn up your nose at cadets; perhaps you’ll fancy the 
officers. Oh, that reminds me Mrs. Reese told me 
there’s a most fascinating man visiting Lieutenant 
McLaren. Have I told you about him ? McLaren, I 
mean. Well, my dear, this new officer,—what did she 
call him,—Parker?—Larcher?—Archer,—that’s it, Ar¬ 
cher. He must be a perfect bewitcher and a music fiend 
besides; sings like an angel. That would please you. 

And Mrs. Reese says-- What’s the matter, dear? 

you look so—so—I don’t know what, exactly. You’re 
not going to be ill, are you ?” 

“ I’ve no idea of anything so wild,” said Margaret, 
smiling. “ My dear Kitty, West Point has made you 
sensational.” 

“ Well, I have a good time, and that’s all I want. 
Why haven’t you told me more about it, Margaret, and 
your cadet flirtations ! I’m sure you had a lot of them. 
I firmly expect you’ll have the fever over again and cut 
me out.” 

And so the gay girl ran on, not pausing for replies 
or noticing her cousin’s abstracted manner. “ Liebchen, 
ade, scheiden thut weh” still rang in Margaret’s ears. 
Soon Kitty’s chatter ceased, for her pretty head had 
scarcely pressed the pillow when she was asleep. 

Margaret loosened her hair to rest her throbbing 
head, put out the light, and, pushing the blinds wide 
open, sat down by the window; she was not ready for 
sleep. The thoughts rushed to her mind, crowding 
upon each other, and through them always the refrain 
to the German lied. “ He looks just the same,” she 
thought, “ only more manly. I wasn’t wrong; I couldn’t 
mistake his voice and that song.” She softly sang, 



THE OLD “ACADEMIC. 1 


I 9 I 

“ Liebchen, ade, scheiden thut wehbut it ended in a 
sob. She dashed away the tears angrily. “ Why should 
I care ? he’s forgotten me long ago, and has sung those 
same words to a dozen other girls. How strange that 
we should both be here together. We must meet, and 
it will be awkward, too. But he’s nothing to me now, so 
why should I care ?” But she did care, and she knew 
she did, hard as she might struggle against it. She had 
raised the barrier between them herself, but she too had 
suffered, for the blow had rebounded upon her own 
heart. To-night the charm of his voice had awakened 
the stifled love; every moment gave it new life; her 
whole being seemed overwhelmed by it. “ I sent away 
a good and true man,” she thought, “ and with him my 
happiness.” 

She dropped her arms on the window-ledge, her head 
sank down between them, and her slight frame shook 
with sobs as the bitter tears fell now uncontrolled. She 
was very wretched. The moonlight streamed in upon 
her, but its calm silver beams brought no ray of hope 
to her heart; the soft night-breeze stirring her shimmer¬ 
ing hair whispered no word of peace or comfort. Her 
grief had its way, and, exhausted by it, she still lay 
motionless, except for the quick-drawn breath that suc¬ 
ceeds violent sobbing. Then these ceased, and one 
would have fancied the white, still figure sleeping, only 
her eyes were open and gazing out into the night. A 
look of calm and peace came to her face, and once a 
radiant smile lighted it as she quietly laid her hand on 
her wrist with a caressing touch. Suddenly she raised 
her head and stretched out her arms. She was listening 
with a look of intense eagerness. It was only a mo- 


192 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


ment, then her arms fell and she rose to her feet. “ I 
heard it,” she said, softly, “ and it was his voice.” 

The early summer dawn was glimmering as Margaret 
threw herself down to rest. 


IV. 

It was still early next morning when a card was 
brought to Margaret. “ Are you sure it’s for me ?” she 
asked, as a faint flush rose to her face. The card was 
McLaren’s. 

“ Quite sure, miss. Miss Margaret Lawrence ?” he 
asked. 

She went down and found McLaren in the deserted 
parlor; he came quickly forward to meet her, in his easy, 
bright fashion. 

“ You’ve not forgotten me, Miss Lawrence ?” he asked. 

“ No, indeed! * Should auld acquaintance be forgot ?’ ” 
she answered, brightly, as she gave him her hand. 

“ Ah! that’s friendly and does me good. I felt half 
afraid to venture, for fear that even my name might have 
dropped from your memory.” 

“ My memory is not so treacherous, you see. I didn’t 
know you were stationed here ?” 

“ Oh, you know the army is a nomadic tribe and hard 
to keep track of unless one has ties there.” 

He meant nothing by this speech, but she colored. 

“ Sha’n’t we go on the piazza ?” she said; “ it’s much 
pleasanter.” 

McLaren saw the quick flush, and, as he followed her, 
decided upon a bold step. 

“ If she still loves him, she’ll forgive the liberty,” he 
thought, “ and if not, why, I can’t help it.” 


THE OLD “ACADEMIC.” I93 

“ I suppose Kitty told you I was coming ?” asked 
Margaret, unconsciously paving the way. 

“ No; I saw you last night on the piazza,” he said, 
watching her closely. 

“ Like me, you were enjoying the moonlight, I sup¬ 
pose ?” she said, carelessly, but raising her fan to her face 
as a shield from the sun. 

“ Certainly; and like me, you, I suppose, were also 
enjoying the music?” 

She made no reply. 

“ Do you know,” he ruthlessly continued, “ there is 
no music that appeals so to one as that of the human 
voice ? I would rather hear that man sing than any one 
I’ve ever heard.” 

He paused a moment; she looked very pale, but he 
had no mercy. 

“ The simplest song gathers new meaning when he 
sings it,” McLaren went on. “ German songs seem to 
be his favorites, and how charmingly he sings them! 
You must have known them all, Miss Margaret; you 
are a musician ? One in particular-” 

“ I had heard some of them before,” she answered, 
low; her voice was unsteady, and she looked straight 
ahead of her. 

“ I noticed you left very suddenly.” He stopped; he 
was going too far; her lip quivered and she was very white. 

They were both silent for a few moments; then Mar¬ 
garet turned, her eyes flashing, though her voice was 
steady now. “ Mr. McLaren, I’m glad to meet you as 
an old friend, but you have no right-” 

She stopped, disarmed by his expression of frank 
friendliness. 

1 n 17 


194 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


u You were going to say I have no right to presume 
upon that title,” he said, quickly. “ Forgive me, Miss 
Margaret, your woman’s pride is hurt, but your heart 
feels differently. For my old friend’s sake—for John 
Archer—I can’t be silent. I’m no messenger,” he went 
on, as the color rushed to her face, “ for he doesn’t know 
you are here.” 

“ He doesn’t know,” she faltered; “ then-” 

“ At least he did not, but he soon must,” said McLaren, 
rising ; “ and then-” 

He looked rather than asked the question. Margaret 
stood speechless, motionless, her eyes downcast, her 
cheeks like the heart of a rose. The young man thought 
her very lovely. At last she looked up, a new light in 
her eyes and a smile on the slightly quivering lips. 

“ Then,” she said, “ then he must come and know for 
himself.” 

“ Jack, dear old man, I wish I stood half your chance,” 
muttered the young officer, as he moved away. 

The girl stood where McLaren left her, looking out 
beyond the sun-lighted water and hills. 

“ He doesn’t know I’m here, and yet he called me,” she 
thought. 

“ Do you believe in mental magnetism, thought-trans¬ 
fer, or anything of the sort, Mac ?” 

“ As I’ve never had any experience in that line, I can’t 
say,” was the answer. “ Do I look like a fit subject for 
psychical research ? I say, Jack, are you going to dip 
into occultism ?” 

“ Don’t be alarmed,” said Archer, with a laugh; “ but, 
all joking aside,” he went on, seriously, “ there was some- 




THE OLD “ACADEMIC. 1 


195 


thing strange last night. You would call it a dream, 
perhaps. It was no dream; but I tell you, Mac, I saw 
her—Margaret—as plainly as I see you now.” 

“ Where ?” 

The two friends were just rounding the corner by the 
Academic building. 

“ Up there,” said Archer, pointing. 

“ On the balcony ? Impossible !” cried McLaren; 
“ you were dreaming fast enough, my boy.” 

“ I can’t help it,” persisted Archer. “ I saw her, and 
so vividly that all day I’ve had a strange sense of her 
nearness to me.” 

“ Jack,” said McLaren, putting his hand on Archer’s 
shoulder, “ this is coming out all right, take my word for 
it. Who knows what the next few hours may bring ?” 

“ What do you mean ?” said Archer. 

“Just what I said. And here we are.” 

They had reached one of a set of quarters known as 
the south quarters, a rather small and unpretending cot¬ 
tage, but with a generous piazza front framed in by vines. 
The hammock, chairs, and steps were all occupied; the 
Reese’s was a popular place. Archer was known to all 
but the hostess, to whom he was immediately presented, 
and with his usual grace of manner he first in order 
devoted himself to her. 

“ Well, this is a gathering of the clans,” said McLaren, 
as he sat down near the hammock, in which a dark, 
pretty girl sat lazily swinging. She turned a laughing 
face. “ Is this what you call a clan ?” 

“ That’s Mac’s way,” said Captain Anderson, “ of say¬ 
ing something nice, for he means that we are all very 
much at home and having a good time.” 


196 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


“ I agree to that,” said Norton, casting an adoring 
glance at Kitty Lawrence, who, leaning her pretty head 
against the vine-wreathed pillar, looked like a white blos¬ 
som in the moonlight. 

“ And all that’s needed to complete the charm is some 
music, such as we had last night,” said Captain Ander¬ 
son, glancing at Archer. 

As if in answer to this wish, the piano was at that 
moment heard from the room opening on the piazza, a 
soft preluding of successive harmonious modulations. 
The true musician was recognized in the firm, ringing 
touch and rich harmonies. McLaren ceased his chatter 
and glanced at Mrs. Reese, who answered with a ready 
smile, and, turning to Archer, said,— 

“You love music; so listen: I’ll not say a word to 
you.” 

And John Archer did listen. The improvising had 
ceased and familiar sounds now succeeded; but few 
there had ever heard such rendering of the master’s 
work. It was the Moonlight Sonata. A dream of 
music, Archer thought, as he listened to the soft, im¬ 
pressive notes, rising and falling like a pleading voice, 
then hushed into calm sweetness, and ending in rest and 
peace. 

Then the Allegro, with its flitting lights and shadows 
in elfish pursuit, and then the grand close, with its rush¬ 
ing waves of sound and bursts of harmony. One by 
one had stopped talking till there was perfect silence, all 
feeling the power of the music. But to Archer it spoke 
as to no other; the ears of his understanding were open 
and thirstily drank in the sounds. 

The music stopped, the chatter went on, but Archer 


THE OLD “ACADEMIC.” 


IQ/ 


sat as if under a spell, his face in shadow. McLaren 
watched him. “ Why don’t the fellow take his chance ? 
I believe he knows that’s she.” 

The piano was heard again. Archer started. It was 
only a simple, soft little melody few would notice after 
the grand sonata, and only two besides Archer did do so. 

These were Captain Anderson and McLaren, who had 
heard Archer sing it the evening before. But as the 
plaintive little refrain, “ Liebchen, ade, scheiden thut 
weh,” ended, there was a quick modulation to a higher, 
brighter key, and a Scotch air was heard tripping lightly 
alone, “ Oh, hey for somebody, oh, hon for somebody.” 

Archer started up and went towards the low open 
window. 

“ My Scotch blood can’t resist that,” said McLaren. 
“ Oh, hey for somebody,” he sang; “ Oh, hon for some¬ 
body,” joined in Captain Anderson, and in a moment 
there was a chorus, and nobody noticed that the piano 
had stopped. 

“ Let’s have another,” said Mac, swinging into the 
“ Bonnets o’ Bonny Dundee.” And so the good fellow 
kept it up till all declared their throats were hoarse. 

“ What has become of Margaret ?” cried Kitty Law¬ 
rence, suddenly. 

“ And where’s Mr. Archer ?” said another voice. 

“ Miss Lawrence and Mr. Archer are old friends,” ex¬ 
plained Mrs. Reese. 

“ Oh,” said Kitty; “ and she never told me, and let me 
go on a whole string about him. What I’d heard, I 
mean.” 

“ So that’s it!” said Captain Anderson. “ I see.” 

At that moment two figures came through the window, 

. 17* 


BY LAND AND SEA. 


I98 

and all eyes were mercilessly turned on them and there 
was a sudden hush. “Any one could have seen at a 
glance,” Kitty Lawrence said afterwards, “ and it must 
have been rather awkward for them, but then it was lots 
of fun!” 

It was very shabby, but no one spoke. 

“ What a perfect evening!” said Margaret, rapturously. 
At which original remark every one chimed in, “ perfect,” 
“ glorious,” “ delightful,” and “ we’ve enjoyed your music 
so much, Miss Lawrence,” said Mrs. Reese. 

McLaren was holding Archer’s hand in a tight grip. 
“ All right, Jack,—and say, old man, I’m going to an¬ 
nounce it now,” and he raised his voice. 

“ Friends ai>d classmen,” he began. All listened; 
something interesting was coming. “ This isn’t at all en 
regie” went on Mac; “ for which breach of convention¬ 
alities may I be forgiven. I beg leave to announce, and 
take heart-felt pleasure in doing so, the engagement of 
Miss Margaret Lawrence to my dear old friend, John 
Archer. Let’s give him a cheer, boys.” And so they 
did, and a ringing one. Then Margaret, her lovely face 
all aglow in the white moonlight, and Archer, looking as 
if he could never know anything but happiness, had to 
run the gauntlet. 


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